Brother

Now the door
     is open,
          waiting-
Cheap ink preserved on
      worthless foreign
          paper-
The stairs are
     listening intently,
          expectant-
His colours have been
     once again pressed and
          aired-
Logs in the hearth
     almost ready to burst
          into flaming tears-
The outfit he wears
     buried beneath
          our loving memories-
Three years and though
     they may say otherwise-
he’s still alive.
      ...he has to be.