Going through some of my Grandmothers writings that I retrieved out of some boxes of her things in my parents' attic, I came across this beautiful but crushing poem. I didn't know about an of this, only that she had a brother who died young.

It was so long ago
Those who stopped my tears
Then, who could not countenance
My guttural sorrow,
Are no doubt dead
Or disarmed by age and distance.

It was so long ago.
Yet my tears are the solvent
Melting the time between here
And then. I am five again. 
The little brother being forced
From my arms is four. 
We are crying, in the moment before
We learn it is not allowed.

It was so long ago. 
Yet the wrench of grief
Tightens my throat now
Brings me to my knees here.
The void where my little brother 
Was is hollowed out still;
I cannot fill it.

It was so long ago. 
Yet the loss is as current 
As the moment here before us.
The gods to whom all moments are one
Who do not understand 
My linear "long ago"
Cannot hear my plea
To protect him.

It was so long ago.

![](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmTYFNsoRrqszxScfVicMhc12iuFni98B78L4j7MBjaZAN/image.png)