It wasn’t a surprise to me.
I wondered about the hickey on his neck, and somehow I knew
it wasnt from a girl.
His time was mainly taken up
by a new guy friend
who wore scarves and drove
a small red voltswagen.
One day driving home from work
the math equation, two and two,
finally made sense in my mind.
I’m not the type to let it be.

His answer was at first a lie.
A bitten lip and shying eyes.
The next day though, the red-car
boy came over and they told me together, while holding hands.
I expected my world to shatter
but somehow, while my heart was heavy, it was still in one piece.
The hard part came when I was
forbidden to tell.
I yearned to spill the words,
to share and lighten my heart.
But it was not my place to say.

One of my sisters still refuses
to say anything.
She carries on as if nothing
is amiss. Every once in a while
though, I see her frown
at the mention of his name.
My other sister was caught
by surprise, and shed a good
many tears for her brother.
I talk about it, hesitantly.
I dont know how I feel,
its one of those things I never
thought I would have to deal with
- until I did.

It might be easier for me to smile
up at my brother
if I knew he was being treated right.
If I knew that without a doubt,
he was happy.
It makes it hard to except
when there are bruises
and scars.
It makes it hard to except
when your parents have to explain why he suddenly moved back home, and he’s limping painfully
down the hall.

I pray everyday
for something to change.
Not for who he is,
I would never change that.
I pray that he will find the strength
to leave the boy with the patterned scarves, and red car, and ready fists.
I pray that he will wake up
one morning and know,
and know that we still love him
and that I believe he can
fight the world.
The world that seems to cave in on him a bit more everyday.
I believe he can start over,
and be loved right.
Whether by a woman
or a man.
He just deserves to be
loved right.