(for my sons)
One brother suffers, and another brother—
and then a third—is standing by his side.
This is the surest sign to any mother
by which her sons can be identified.
Not eyes of blue that make a sibling’s match;
nor cow-licked hair that sports the same brown curl;
not that they all watch films with Cumberbatch;
nor that they each pursue the same good girl.
One brother has been singled out to suffer.
Here is a certain sign the same womb bore them:
Two more arrive like angels—bigger, tougher.
And for this act of blood, all saints adore them.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Mad as Hell
In a simpler time, the internet was full of cats. Flooding message boards and YouTube with images…
The Founders and the Common Good
The dominant public philosophy among American elites is modern liberalism, often referred to merely as “liberalism.” Two…
The Enemy Within
The Information State is one of the most important books of the twenty-first century. In a virtuoso…
