Shielding

The glass was a web on the grass,

shining like something we should own.

My brother’s face was the color of salt,

standing there with his hands like stone.

I told Dad the bat just slipped,

that I was the one who aimed too high.

The sweat in my pockets felt like grease

as I learned how to look him in the eye.

It wasn't the fear of the belt

that made my stomach start to churn.

It was the weight of the secret

I didn't know how to unlearn.