The Oldest Instinct

My sister called at midnight, flat tire, a wail.

Two states away, but I felt the old pull, the old tale.

Then his text, youngest brother, 'urgent' advice, a slight

fear in his words for something so light.

It’s always me first, it seems, in their mind.

The one who patched scrapes, the one left behind

to explain, to calm, to just know what to do.

My small hand on his knee, wiping the dew

of dirt before the real tears could start.

A quiet weight, this beating in my heart,

this readiness to fix, to step in, to mend.

It never really stops, it doesn't ever end.