THirty-FifTh
Contest
First Place

Toothy little monster grins under twin devilish eyes
So sparkling blue you’d swear our faces matched
Our freckles crinkle as we laugh and cover up our mouths

We sit behind the island in the kitchen, two pirates
Smuggling not one nor two, but the entire jar of cookies
From the mainland to the bedroom
Where we plan to eat them all and not get sick
Because that is a myth!

Trove under my arm, I wink at my abettor, ready
Ready and full willing to take the blame for such a crime
Should we be captured and thus tried for our savagery
I, after all, am the captain of this two-man band of renegades
And a grown woman in my twenties

For only a number of days we can count on our hands
Have I known him that I call little brother:
A four-year-old with nerves of steel and the disposition of a rogue

How different was a four-year-old, impressionable
Hilarious, daring, imaginative, and with the ability to put on pants
Fostering had only in the past brought diapers and bottles
To my parents’ door, those two loony birds who,
When faced with an empty nest, chose to fill it again

Crouching with my brother who, on his first day here,
Refused to believe he would stay through the night
Who didn’t play with toys, or laugh, or yell, or grin...
We wait until our coast is clear enough to chance our doom

We crawl! With haste we slither across the kitchen floor,
Around the island’s shadow, through the living room
We scale over the baby gate that blocks the hall
Our mother none the wiser as she scrubs the countertops
Her back to the swindlers escaping just under her nose

Our hearts storm inside our chests, door closed behind us
To the company of dinosaurs, dolls, and plastic army men
That would have cheered our names had they the will to speak
I hold the cookie jar into the light, and for a moment,
We stare in silence at our prize, our introspection ceremonious

I quickly divvy out the loot, one for me and one for him
Still gooey from the pan, sweet chocolate chips melt on our tongues
We laugh, our mouths full, crumbs sputtering into the air

Our mother hears our mirth, checks the kitchen, sees our crime!
She catches us red-handed, shakes her head
Confiscates the jar and hides a smile of her own

Later, when my brother is in bed, sugar-rushed
And unable to sleep (I don’t know why...)
He meets us in the living room, wide awake
And tells us that he doesn’t want to leave

If the choice was up to us, he never would
But we assure him that, even if he has to go,
We love and want him, too, and what is best
Though these words fall short for someone who is four
Or someone in their twenties, thirties, forties...

One thing I know for certain and can say,
“You are my brother and best friend
always and wherever you may be.”