Brother

He leans out front on the car seat 
To take more of the sights in. 
It's been years since he's travelled these roads.
His neck craning out
Looks tender, vulnerable. 
His swallow moves 
his Adam's Apple 
Down then up. 
Or is it the other way? 

In that moment 
He reminds me most of Papa
The father we both shared 
and did not share. 
But whose troubles and cares 
We both took on. 
We nursed Papa 
We both called him 'Papa.'
And Papa loved it. 

My stomach drops as 
I see other traits of Papa.
His domesticity
The way he hates troubling anyone 
The way he was ready to drop my girl to the railway station 
The way he calls me, the only one who does now, after Papa, 'Bommy'. 
Papa told me it was doll in Tulu. 
The silence. 
This man has lived years in the depths of his being. 
Everything now, then, is a secret. 
It all reads like sorrow. 
Just as it was with Papa. 

But when he smiles or tells a story
It's fascinating always. 
The delight fades the years, 
Drops the drudgery of a US life
And it's like we are children again
Giggling, laughing 
Our cheeks turning pink
Eyes alight with easy mischief.
The story gets told slowly 
I nod impatient 
But it's a good story. 
Always a fun story. 

And then he turns away
Watches the road again
Becomes my Papa again 
Who in the end started taking 
no space 
Who shrank and withdrew. 
Like he seems to be doing now. 

Good men both. 
Kind men both. 
The kindest I have known. 
They never speak of their battles. 
The silence stretches ahead like the roads. 
The throat clogs. 
Why do good, kind men 
Make your heart ache with worry 
And swell you up with love 
So that the tears escape
Unbidden 
Listening to a song by BTS 
About life going on.