"Brothers" are not born
they are made
from the old vine that
grew wild in the first
primordial desert,
searching for water
as it scoured the earth.
"Brothers" carve their names
on each others' wrists
and mingle blood,
an ancient boyhood ritual
bonding the lives of two
who grew in different wombs.
"Brothers" would sooner
sink to the ocean's bottom
than betray one another.
They will go into the abyss
hand in hand and come up shining.
For all eternity . . . the word, "Brother"
avows a sacred trust, bonded in the heart,
a crown to shine on manhood
and may it always be.
Joanne Cucinello
