In a blink, as she steps on the path,
she sees her hand letting go of her little brother’s hand, forever.
That day, she was sure her brother was tricking her, trying to scare her.
Hours later, she was still
sure.
And eleven years on, she’s back here, where he was last seen, alone.
All their searching found not one trace.
She’s clung to the same belief, though, ever since,
what they called denial, then fixation.
That her little brother is only tricking her.
Or perhaps, she sometimes thinks, the real trickster is life’s director.
He’s laughing at us all behind the curtain.
She used to take a boyfriend here and squeeze his throat during sex,
each time harder. Until, bruised, he left for good.
At twilight, turning to go, she glimpses a flash between a white oak’s roots.
Her brother’s eyes, unchanged, twinkle at her, then disappear.
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