to be a good brother. Tells me to say I love her. Protect her
from hardship. Give her advice. So I sharpen my pencil
and jot down a list, saying Don’t talk to strangers. Saying
Do talk to teachers. Carry a light coat even if it’s warm.
Don’t drink the water. I mean, do drink the water, but
only if you poured it yourself. Otherwise who knows.
Add a little salt to water as it boils. Boil spearmint leaves
from your herb garden. Grow an herb garden. Grow up
slowly. Say please and thank you. Say to the bartender
it’s your first time or that you are recently, suddenly single
and you will likely drink free from the cinnamon schnapps.
Women can be snarky friends. Men can be asshole friends.
If a guy ever tells you “you don’t even have to move,”
whatever the context, aim straight for his balls.
Is this okay advice? It’s really all I’ve got. What I know
of brotherhood I know secondhand.  Don’t tell Mom
it gets to me, how when at six I latched on and begged
her for a girl, she rushed us to the kitchen for crackers
and cream. I didn’t know she tried. That you were, almost.
The shame of it is I still can’t cook well. Our family-size
portions I learned too small. My advice is, when you
have a date over, double the recipe. Double everything.
In the pan add diced potatoes, a torn grip of lemongrass,
adding peppers, white pepper, crumbled butter, sprigs.
Read The Art of Listening. Read the classics. Memorize
quotes to recite at gatherings: “To understand another
means to love not in the erotic sense but in the sense
of reaching...” Do not write sonnets about sorghum
in the cane fields, but do make time to call your mother
ever Sunday. Tell her you love her. Ask about her day.

David Antonio Moody

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