STORM
Are You Safe Tonight, Lake?

It’s my job to keep you that way.
I decided that when we were three.
I remember it like it was yesterday,
now almost fourteen years ago.

We were locked in the closet.
Shivering with fear. Every time we heard
Beverly’s footsteps outside the door
we’d shrink against the wall.

You got so scared you started
to hiccup. I put my arm around
your shoulder. “I’ll protect you,” I said.
“It’s my job. I’m your big brother.”

You whispered we were twins.
That made us the same age.
“No,” I argued. “I came out
first. That makes me older.”

Sometimes memories like that float
from the depths of my brain,
ascend like buoys before
submerging and sinking again.

It’s our birthday eve. We turn
seventeen tomorrow. So of course
you’re on my mind. It’s the last day
of August. Senior year just started.

I have no clue where you are,
or how long you’ve been there.
New foster placement? Longtime?
My gut tells me you’re not too far away.

I hear from you when our caseworkers
manage to intersect paths, pass on
letters or cards. But I haven’t 
seen you in five long years.

Well, unless you count that one time
Mom decided we should reunite.
That experiment lasted three weeks. 
Honestly, longer than expected.

It was enough time for you
and me to forge our sync again.
Remember how we called it that—­
the way our thoughts seemed synchronized?

I wonder which high school you go to.
Do you think, over the years,
we were ever at the same football
game, rooting for opposite teams?

Are you still acing your classes?
Despite all the crap in our childhood, 
you vowed to succeed in school,
find a way to live your dreams. 

I’m afraid dreaming is a fool’s game 
I quit, cold turkey, years ago.
Gambling on dreams successfully
requires belief in tomorrow.

I can 
barely 
hold on 
to today.