By Nancy Talley

I sat on the pegged oak floor
building a city of blocks
with my little brother.
One block alone caused argument
to such a degree we gave it a name -
The Red Louie.
This simply-red triangle was needed
to top each structure's aspiration
and there was only one.
Taking turns seemed impossible
at the time.

You moved away. I stayed.
I moved away. You visit.
I married and had children.
You worked. I worked.
Our mother died.
You cried. I cried.
Our father married. Your son
stood for the foolish union.
You divorced. I am widowed.
I injured my spine.
You have cancer.

If I had The Red Louie
I would wrap it gently
in brightly colored tissue
and send it EXPRESS
by overnight
so you could have it
by your bed
first thing every morning.


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