Unlike CBS or CNN
with pictures of an Asian earthquake
or Balkan unrest,
his indigo words
were suspended
in leadlike liquid
and cast peculiar ions of darkness
across those many miles
into my inert space …
where I asked…
about…
work.

He tried a matter-of-fact tone,
pink petunia phrases
rather than grave gladiolas
that would alarm me.

He is the eldest,
an anchor of committed love
in the sea of uncertainty
where my boat rocks,
shaky and scattered.

Talk of arrangements for surgery
and dates and locations
erected a scaffold
where I could hang
my quaking jellofear
just barely congealing
with the vague prognosis.

What could I have said?
Did I squander
precious moments
of attentive listening?

In the labyrinth of my confusion
and the scratchy fear
one layer under my skin
I hope I can find
the courage and grace
that will surely be his
on this precarious journey.

Author's note: I am asking all who read this to pray or send forth positive thoughts for my brother's full and total recovery from cancer and the surgery to remove his prostate. He lives in California and will travel to Austin, Texas for the surgery that will occur on April 27, 2005.