by Vesper Grove
When I was a sister my brother told me stories under
blankets of storm clouds and pillow forts because he thought
I was scared of thunder, and the yelling in the walls. That’s when
I learned fear could bring people together.
When I was a sister my brother stole books on castles;
We crafted every fireplace, trapdoor, draw bridge, and
moat (full of lava or sharks or flesh eating bugs) because he and
I learned fear could bring people.
When I was a sister my brother grew up taught
how to load a gun and who to aim at. Taught
that brothers in arms could set a hotter fire than what
I learned fear could bring.
When I was a sister I stood outside the castle and told stories.
I thought he was scared of thunder and yelling in the walls,
I thought I could draw him maps the way
I learned fear could.
When I was a sister I watched my own funeral
mourning how I grew up into another one of Them.
An Other.
I learned fear.
When I was a sister I had a brother,
now he is a Man and I am a Woman.
I build castles and listen to yelling in the walls; it is my own voice.
I learned.
I am a woman within armies of women.
We have fireplaces, trapdoors, drawbridges, and flesh eating moats.
We kill our brothers. They kill us back. Everyone tells stories.
I learned fear could bring people together.
Vesper Grove is from the sunflower state of Kansas. They work full time protecting the blueberries from rabbits and part time as a writer of fiction and poetry.