sledding up hill

there are no brothers, only snow.
i sometimes meet our younger selves
& have to walk them home. 
it is july but they are always wearing
snow pants. my green ones & 
your blue ones. they pull their purple
sleds behind them. i ask them,
"how did you get here?" sometimes
they answer. you say, "it's a snow day."
my younger self corrects you,
"it is a snow year." the fields are just
starting to open. corn & soybeans
in their soft-neck forms. when i am
feeling really nostalgic, i pull us up
the hill behind the school. they are
no interested in going down. 
we crave to go up & up. i sometimes
think to ask you if you see them too.
then i feel embarrassed. that i am so old
& you are so old & that we used to 
bathe in the same water of the house
long turned to dirt. have you ever
sled with them? begged them to go
down the hill? i do not. i am afraid
of upsetting them. what would i do
if they didn't return? i would have
to go sit in a photograph for a year
in order to be a creature again. luckily though
i think i have been a good care giver
to us. do you agree? it is okay if you don't.
i worry that memory is less like
a video & more like a collage. i cut out
the skies i need. do you see us in june?
or maybe september when we crossed
the skunk cabbage field to see the hawk?