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The door was left ajar. He lay in bed, attired in my father’s wrapper. We wondered who he was. We have never seen someone lie in my father’s bed in the daytime. We were expecting to see the door locked. In our curiosity, we drew closer. He was fast asleep. He looked like our father but a lighter version. We have seen so many of his brothers – my father comes from a large family - but this one has a striking resemblance. They look like twins. We looked at each other startled.

“This must be Father’s brother,” my brother said. He continued, “The resemblance is just too much.”

I nodded.

“Where has he been?” I asked.
“I don’t know. How would I?” My brother replied.
“We have seen so many of his brothers but this I don’t think so,” I said.

My brother nodded.

He looked at us with keen interest. He cautioned us when we played beyond safety. He was indeed different. He acted like we were his children. It was later we knew that he was my father’s only sibling from the same parents. They haven’t been close since my father left his parental home. My father had told him that we were relocating to the state where he resides. My father had asked for his assistance in conveying our properties. He had gladly accepted the request. It was an opportunity to light up dying embers.

A few years later, my father departed. He had held my father’s hand through the troubled waters. He had journeyed with my father through the midnight holding the lamp. My father's hand was too feeble to hold onto his. The darkness was too dense for the lamp's light to shine through. They came to the end of the road. One transcended. The other was forlorn and distraught. He mourns his brother even to this day.



April 15, 2023.
A Visitor Poetry Contest,
Julia Ward.

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