I always pushed my bedtime
when I was little.      
I had drifted into sleep’s shallow pool.   
There but not there.      
Asleep but awake.      

I felt myself being hoisted up.     
My brother’s lean arms quivered    
then relaxed.       
My head was nuzzled into his shoulder.      
I smelled his mint toothpaste.     
His breath tickled my nose.

He was only ten years old but
he had always been stronger than
the other kids.
His walk was
silent but swift. I heard only
the gentle creak of each step.

He tucked me in the soft blankets.
I still felt his presence
next to my bed. It
was like the
presence of a
father. Warm
and nice. Caring yet
gruff.

This was different
than what happened
during the day.
We always
teased each other.
So much so that he’d
make me cry.

His hand lightly sweeped
the hair from my face.
He kissed my forhead
and left me in sleep’s
welcoming arms.

Until then, I never
knew he
loved me.
I never knew he cared.