Cockfight

I met my brother once

in a small village in Vietnam

who, upon meeting me

grabbed my small arm

& dragged me into the woods

behind his house

where a group of men

all wearing our father's face

stood in a circle, cheering

while the two roosters

whose beaks had barbed hooks

taped to them, pecked

& clawed each other open

until the mess of bloodied feathers

were replaced by two clean birds

one, my brother's, the other

a man's, who I am told is deaf

but vicious. He told me

our father calls him long distance

from America, every week.

I can't help but wonder how

they tell the roosters apart

since the blood has turned their feathers

the same shade of burgundy.

I told him how our father, who lives

only three mile away from me

avoids making eye-contact at supermarkets.

I can tell this made him happy.

Though, he didn't cheer

when the crowd cheered, when one rooster

fell to the dirt with a gash in its neck.

I knew he was the winner

when he lowered his head to hide

his smile, how he looked at me

then snatched his earnings

from the vicious man's hands.

I learned what it was like to be a brother

by watching the roosters

& how, at first, the air was calm

until they were introduced

& then they knew:

there could only be one.