Sometimes

In memories of my brother

I swim a little too deep

And my feet graze the bottom

While my fingers still reach to catch

Hold of his kicking feet

I let reminders plaster me and

My lungs

Until I drown in all the things

We used to do.

I slipped the bark off a willow tree because

You told me to and I

Thought you were God of all

Our games

And the tree wasn’t ours but

I peeled back all its skin so I could find

A whole new layer that

Belonged just to me

Because there wasn’t much of me that hadn’t

Belonged to you

First

by Catherine Sleeman, Horsham, England