How to Reconcile with a Brother

—after Ellen Bass

I could build him a barn, a big one,
as wide as the sky, red, to show my love
and to confess I share the same blood
that courses his veins. I would make it
tall and sturdy, out of the same materials
Noah used in the ark, and if I had difficulty
finding gopher wood, I would surf
the internet for a tree of equal hardness
or consult with the Sidonians. No one
knows timber like the Sidonians—
just ask King Solomon. And if I had
other questions, building suppliers would
get back to me eventually, even provide
how-to videos before I drove the first nail.
We might break bread. I can imagine
my efforts to fry squirrel or rabbit,
stirring up a little brown gravy
from the grease and juices, might do
the trick. Or I could lavish scads
of shiny objects on him because
reconciliation is costly—glitter and glitz
work miracles, and a diamond is a friend
to most members of the human species,
not just to the subset Marilyn advocated for
in the fifties. Should I consider a game? Maybe
one called Risks? One in which I would wager
it all for the chance to laugh again.