Traces

As I did the rock and the pat tonight
The rhythm broke away in the middle
And instead my forefinger tapped away swiftly
Just like yours used to, when I was little

And then later in the semi-darkness
He was clipping his toenails, bent over the rails
He muttered softly almost to himself
"How can a baby have such thick nails?"

Still at the table after a meal at home
A meal that ended in curd and pickle
As the hour ticks and the conversation flows
My brother’s hand dries out, little by little

With each day more comes to light
Some imperfections seem perfectly right
Because it means there’s still a bit of you to see
In them, in him, and in me.