Brother Pierre, Slidell, La.

When I walked up to Brother Pierre he dropped the trash he was picking up and stood at attention, as if he was a Private and I a visiting General. When I said Hello he went slack, at ease. He was a reed, a wisp of a man. When I shook his hand it weighed nothing. I could have broken him with my fist, and this made me want to protect him. There were drops of water on his beard near where his mouth was. All these things about Brother Pierre I already knew, because I remembered him from my childhood.