Little Brother

by Kimberly Stotts

Our letters cross in the mail.

I tell a joke,

you smile 15 days later.

I write “Happy Birthday”

a month in advance.

I see the full moon

after you’ve awakened

the next day.

We both see waves

from different oceans.

Half a world apart,

I remember you

at the breakfast table

one Saturday morning

after you told

me straight-faced

how beautiful I looked

with my tousled hair

straggling into my puffy eyes.

I think I punched you in

the arm and you pretended

to fall to the floor dead.

You got me later,

tickle-torturing me

until I could hardly breathe.

I wish I could tickle you back

and hear you laugh now

instead of in a few weeks.