a Letter to my Brother

Dusk is shedding its husk to reveal the ripe black night
and snow is a crystal scatter in the moonlight.
We huddle around the hearth like primitives,
as intent as we used to be in church, in prayer,
and you tell me stories of our mother and other ghosts.
It is the perfect time, you say, for family archaeology.

Reconstruct lives from bones and fragments—that is archaeology
and that is what we do here on this longest night
of the year, because we cannot escape our ghosts.
They float in a flurry around us like snowflakes in moonlight.
I ask you to let us say for the dead a prayer,
but you say religion is primitive.

I say everything about us tonight is primal, primitive,
that is why we are such easy subjects for archaeology.
You whisper a sigh like a prayer
and say this reminds you of other talks on other nights.
You walk to the window and watch winter collect in the moonlight
and I wonder if we too will haunt our children like ghosts.

Sometimes I dream of ghosts.
They whisper to me in languages so primitive
they are undecipherable and I wake up in the clear moonlight.
I try to dig deep into my dreamworld for a clue, but my amateur archaeology
is useless and I find myself alone in the midst of night
speaking to the invisible—like reciting a prayer.

I remember at the funeral Dad bowed his head, said a prayer.
You told me our mother had become a ghost
who would comfort me when I got scared in the dark of night.
I believed you with the simple heart of a child-primitive.
I expose this bit of our past like bare bones to archaeology
and I see your face break in the moonlight.

You and I illuminate each other like starlight and moonlight.
We can change nothing with prayer
or by engaging in extensive archaeology.
We cannot even grasp onto our ghosts,
but with our memory-magic, like prehistoric primitives,
we can conjure them up, if we want, all night.

The fire and moonlight are fading and disintegrating like ghosts.
That we always remember memories is my prayer. We speak a simple language, like primitives.
I have had enough of archaeology. You wish me good night.