"The Gate" by Marie Howe

 

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The Gate by Marie Howe

I had no idea that the gate I would step through / to finally enter this world / would be the space my brother’s body made. He was / a little taller than me: a young man / but grown, himself by then, / done at twenty-eight, having folded every sheet, / rinsed every glass he would ever rinse under the cold / and running water. / This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me. / And I’d say, What? / And he’d say, This — holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich. / And I’d say, What? / And he’d say, This, sort of looking around.