Another Letter to my Big Brother

The toasted New York bagels we had,
spread with strawberry cream cheese, and
how you’d dab my nose with it,
and how I’d jokingly shove you around.
The horrible c-pop we’d dance to on your old Sony,
and how you’d play the D note on your school flute.
How we’d ask for sweet, glazy char siu or
smoky Beijing duck with garlic bok choy, and
the way you’d steal one of my pieces,
acidic juices rolling down your chin
as you’d prank call Uncle’s restaurant in a Southern accent.
The cool minty breath of your mouth,
filled with Xylichew gum as we’d stay up at midnight
gossiping about school crushes or
debating how much money we’d give our parents.
How I’d write to you about these things
over and over again,
bagel in hand, hoping you’d smear my nose,
dreaming you went to sleep over at auntie’s —
not died in the war.