Bound by birth, anchored for
life from cradle to grave,
playing like kittens -- flashes
of fighting, united in mischief.

Teamed in late-night giggles and 
gossip, confessions of crushes, and
Dad’s count to ten that stopped at
five, whispering until sleep claimed us.
I think he knew that.
.
Our anchor sank, I don’t know when,
too weak to withstand wounds scabbed 
and picked, who was smarter, had more 
friends, grapevines turned into grudges.

Now closer to grave than cradle, 
giggles long gone, our father gone
too, heartthrobs grayed, like us, 
time had blinked away our youth.

But bonds from birth don’t break like glass.
They crack. They only crack.