Bitter Lemon

The only memory of my brother
That belongs to me,
That is not passed down
As part of the ritual of
Verbal narrative;

That is not part of the
Process of glorification of
A child who cannot
Fail in his glory;

That is not central
To the history of the
Family, without which
So much would never occur;

My only memory, my unique memory,
My true memory, my beloved memory
Is that, when I realised
He was dead
I was sitting,
With my sister,
In the back room
With fruit flavoured lollipops,
Stirring them,
Dissolving them in water
In glasses,
That now
My Dad uses,
Still uses,
Every mealtime,
To drink his milk or
Bitter lemon.