Transcript
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Major J. Jackson (1:31)
I'm Major J. Jackson, and this is the Slowdown. I have borne witness to some profoundly tender relationships over the years between siblings. I realize how quiet I have been in acknowledging the beauty of these bonds, so consider today's episode a shout out, a lifting of siblinghood that avoids traditional, predictable codes and stereotypes. Once at my wedding, two brothers who are dear friends joined together on a dance floor to the surprise of many attendees. This was 23 years ago and thus not a typical sight. Back then in western Michigan, two men partnered up like tango dancers, adding to the festivities of laughter and joy. For just half a song, they did a front ocho, a little twirling, a few cross steps, and a dip. That's it. I could see some older family members stricken by the sight, but mostly others saw it for what it was a whimsical expression of fraternal love. One of them even wrote a poem about it called Slow Dance. When he turns to dip me or I step on his foot because we are both leading, I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer. My friend Janice travels with her sister every year. They have made it a ritual to visit new countries. No trailing partners, no children, nor their spouses. Just the two of them. I asked her, don't you ever tire of the other? Janice said, in a way, we are kids again, discovering the world. At the same time, I've taken notice of my friend's connection with their siblings because of my estrangement from my brother. I once treasured talking to him without guardrails. Those days are gone. When we do connect, it's not guaranteed the reunion will yield warm memories. The last time, unfortunately, the evening was over before it began. A birthday dinner that never made it to the first course. He was still in the emotional wake of his father's passing. I long for the kind of connection in which the boundaries of quiet, shared contemplation move us toward candor and emotional support. Heck, I'd enjoy a simple afternoon at a ballpark with them, or maybe a shared dance. Today's poem carries that wistful desire. Jamboree Evening Midsummer by Austin Araujo My hands, which kept my eyes safe from the sun all day, now have little to do. Fireworks in the festival sky, streamers trailing a paper dragon's head. The phone lights up with my brother's name. Two boys run by me, colliding and orbiting away with ease. A man, perhaps their father, walks behind them and loses his fingers in their hair as I hold the phone to my ear. I stay trained on them, the one boy looking up, the other staring ahead, my brother's voice not yet breaking their hold on me. But he's got some news. The streets cut up into stalls for rigged games. Temporary spotlights buzz, scent of coriander in the grass. The boys are out of sight. At their age, I'd pick goldenrod. I'd forget how to tie my shoes, so I'd ask my brother. I'd hide from our parents until he could help me. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with with the Poetry Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts. On the web@arts.gov to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. Find us on Instagram at Slowdown show and bluesky@downdownshow.org.
