Sister has nightmares,
brother,
You ravage her golden-haired infant
sell her
for one day’s pleasure.
How I despise you — this reality you’ve forced
and the visions of horror you
relentlessly procure.
Our sister has nightmares,
brother,
You capture her innocent angel,
sell her
for that sickly sweet poison
running through your veins.
You rave about the man who hurled
cruel words
and lashing fists,
the one who forced a fearful
“Father” from our lips.
It’s you who instills fear now,
brother,
and you’re a greater blasphemy
to family
than ever he was.
My sister has nightmares,
brother,
and I have dreams when I wake
when my body aches
when my heart hungers
and when my soul craves
Sickly sweet poison
coursing through my veins
Sickly sweet poison
that is your death and
my relief.
© Sabrina Santa Clara, 1988
About This Poem
My brother is the eldest of four; the other three of us are girls. We all grew up with significant abuse. I don’t know whether he got the worst of my father, but he got something different, and he didn’t survive it. He was huffing glue by late elementary school and has spent most of his life in addiction.
Up until my sister started having these nightmares, I could hold compassion for him and visit him through his many stints in jail and prison. I’ve always been a little more psychologically oriented, and I understood his addiction as a result of his trauma — I knew what my father did to him. But he was an adult and still using, still causing harm, still stealing, and my sister was terrified he would kidnap her kids and sell them for another fix. That isn’t entirely unrealistic; people in addiction will do just about anything to get the next one. This poem is a response to her dream.
Something about those nightmares crossed a line, and my usual compassion got hijacked by protectiveness. I was exhausted — exhausted from dealing with a brother who was causing so much pain to my family. I think that part of me just wanted him to end it, which is so hard to say, and so hard to admit, and why no one has seen this poem before now. There are parts of me that love him still, that feel the pain of his life so deeply and want so much for him to find some kind of joy in it. But at that time I really wanted the relief of not having to deal with his trauma, or with what it kept doing to the rest of my family.