Reuniting with my Brother

Sam Aureli

The waitress poured coffee
without asking, as if she knew
this wasn't the time for questions.
He stirred in too much sweetener,
a new habit,
his hand trembling slightly.

We studied the menu
like it might tell us what to say.
Rain stitched faint seams
across the glass, racing nowhere.

I thought of mornings long ago—
how he’d strum at the crack of dawn
until our father’s voice shook the walls,
how he remembered things
that never could have happened
or that I just forget about.

At last, I said his name.
It landed like a plate
set down too hard.
He looked up.
The years didn't vanish,
but shifted,
old boards easing in a thaw.

Between sips,
we sounded like people
who might loosen
toward something lighter.