Brother (Stones and Sticks)
Zack Christensen is a theatre major and a member of the CSI Speech and Debate team and the CSI Madrigals choir. When he is not speaking, he writes and skateboards. He engages with words as tools for communication and art, and is fascinated by their malleability and importance. He appreciates anyone who takes the time to consider his work and the arts themselves.
Brother, do you remember how we’d play with stones and sticks?
We’d indulge in the scent of pine trees, and find logs for which to sit.
And sticks that looked like guns became the envy of us both,
But I think that I miss skipping flat stones on lakes the most.
Brother, do you recall the day you fell into the stream?
How the whisper of the water fell silent to your screams!
And I hope you don’t remember who made you climb the tree,
And who watched the branch snap, thinking “glad it wasn’t me!”
In retrospect, I must confess, I think back and laugh.
Though I saw you fall, I froze and didn’t think to act.
Brother, I miss those days, the two of us, alone.
But now, I can’t be with you, because of sticks and stones.
Mother used to say “words don’t hurt a bit”
But now, I disagree, cause words turn into quips.
And quips hit like sticks, and get thrown around like stones.
And now I know, the words you hear, can even break a bone.
Brother we know sticks and stones get thrown around by family.
And we know how big a stick you must resist to be “manly”
And brother, I can’t take the hit. I know that I would fall.
So brother, I took my stones and sticks, and built myself a wall.
Behind the wall is quiet. Behind the wall is safe.
But this wall creates such distance, which is much different than space.
Behind the wall is nothing, just me, with no facades.
But behind the wall, you’re missing, so behind the wall is flawed.
Brother, you took your sticks and made a handle out of wood.
You took your stones and made a point, combined them best you could.
You made a spade, to hide your pain, six feet underneath.
And you look up at my big wall, and think you’re less than me.
Well this big wall casts a shadow on everything that’s near.
And as for loving whispers, walls make it hard to hear.
Brother, it is lonely here. I am not more brave.
The difference is, I built a wall, and you have dug a grave.
Brother if you hear me, climb out of that pit.
Cause if you climb, then I’m inclined to tear down all this brick.
And brother, bring your stones, we’ll skip them ‘cross the pond.
And bring your biggest sticks, and we’ll pretend that they are guns.