Blood Brothers
(for Sam)
At bedtime, after sidewalks and backyards,
After the limbs, the roots, the rasping bark,
The rocks beside the brook, the leaps and spills,
We’d count our happy mishaps wound by wound,
Competing to see whose shins were more bruised,
Whose toes more stubbed, whose knees more scraped and scabbed,
Whose skin more boldly scribbled with our boasts
About how heartily we had embraced
And been embraced by all the world’s rough grace.
Each gash was an adornment. Work and play
Have found new ways to whittle us since then –
The spinning blade that chewed my fingertip,
The chainsaw that kicked back across your face,
The party tabs our flesh chose to run up –
Our ration of disfigurements and dings
To carve us into trophies for the Earth’s
Definitive collection. You or I
Will someday watch the other one collide
One final time with this unyielding sphere
Of pain and joy. Let each of us resolve
That he will find a way when that day comes
To keep faith with those boys who knew enough
To read in every scar some sign of life.
Chris O'Carroll
If you have any thoughts about this
poem, Chris O'Carroll
would like to hear them
