The Brother said he was fasting, as I opened the cupboard in the antiquated kitchen. Fasting, he said, has its purposes, so as to not make him too tired, to make him as light as a piece of paper in today’s world. Plus, it’s good for the cholesterol.
His hands fold in; he says I’ll keep learning. I check if that is a thought or a skill of my own making, too. I find this pass in the kitchen delightful, and I decide I’m here for good.
Muscle Poems 
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