The Youngest, Yet the Glue

by Madi Rytina

I was the smallest of the babies, born last, 

But as the years passed, 

the burden somehow fell directly on me.

A sister, eight years ahead,

A flickering light that goes from bright to dim

We laugh when we're by ourselves.

However, when moods shift, storms arise in.

A quiet brother only four years older 

Sharp as glass, a mind so deep,

We've only recently bonded,

But forever close 

His wisdom remains and his silence speaks.

However, they are vast, distant oceans.

And I, the territory that connects two,

A mediator, a steady hand,

The youngest, yet the glue.

I put out fires when they rise up.

When there is silence, I occupy the space,

bearing the burden of their fall 

to protect and preserve them.

I live with him, my brother still,

With Dad beside, yet tasks are mine,

The groceries, cleaning, taking trash,

Each list grows longer, line by line.

Isn't this paradox unusual?

The youngest holds the highest load,

Not meant to carry, yet I do,

Not meant to lead, yet I do.

On some days, I wish the roles were reversed 

For someone else to finish it,

fill in the gaps, fix the seams,

like I have to, be the glue.

But even so, I would not change,

For love is woven throughout me

And even if it all gets too much

I would rather carry it than watch it spread.