Construction Zone

I Am Building a Brace

I am building a brace for the front porch
of my brother who is on the other side
of that door listening with headphones
to a recording of Chinese poetry
(in Mandarin, which he understands)
while he is dying, slowly,
brain cell by brilliant brain cell
in that rocking chair
whose joints are creaking,
coming undone.

He no longer remembers his phone number
or how to count change at the grocery store.
He is in denial of any problem
as he grows younger, ever younger
shedding years like snakeskins
while the crack in the porch grows wider, ever wider
so out here in the rain
I set four-by-fours upright as posts,
then I jerk four-by-eights as beams
      lifting on my shoulder
      held by my hands
      pushing with my legs
      transferred through my spine
anchored by my feet
as the useless joists of the deck
drop termite shit onto my eyebrows
like taunts of children:
nya nya you can't fix this.
But I can brace it for a while.

Long enough, at least
for my brother to forget ten languages.
I will repair that rocking chair.
I will buy diapers, rubber sheets,
install grab bars in the shower.
I won't let his porch collapse
out here in the rain.
I will cradle these boards
like a baby in my arms.

Note: Sometimes carpentry is a form of meditation. This poem won first place in the Spirit First 2016 Meditation Poetry Contest. Spirit First is a wonderful society that promotes meditation and mindfulness. You can find them at SpiritFirst dot org. Or on Facebook.