{Two plates crashed to the floor during dinner, shattered white porcelain and tiny azure flowers, pressed in England, devastated by an unforgiving floor. Dinner sputtering angrily on the stove, edging towards burning, while the corn straws of the broom inadequately brushed the shards of pottery into streaks across the floor. Food seasoned with anger, topped with ketchup, eaten in silence.}
The little fist thudded into soft flesh, and my breath snagged in my chest. Dizzyingly fast, they were tied in a knot of freckled angry boy limbs, red faced gritted teeth copper hair balled firsts flailing. Shoving between them, pushing brother-fury, angry tear-smeared cheeks turning to glare not at each other, but at me, daring to stop them, to pull them apart, to insist, horrified, that no one will harm one born of me— even another born of me.
Pulled to either side, breathing hard, overflowing emotion with blotchy crimson faces and tears swiped with angry forearms.
They are best friends again by morning.
Dandelion Mama 
Been there. Been amazed by it.
Boys are such a mystery to me. Every single day, a mystery over again. My money’s on me never figuring them out.
Lovely post about a difficult subject. You are an artist with language.
Thank you. This was hard for me to write about, and taking the usual narrative track seemed like a bit of a cop-out. I was experimenting- I’m glad it captured something of the evening, even if only a small snapshot.
Ah, Tracy, you captured the evening! That fury and love of brotherhood… it’s a passionate thing.
I have always been amazed at the capacity of children to love and hate to such extremes – enemies and friends within such a short time. Wish we adults could imitate such forgiveness and let go of similar grudges and pettiness.
“Food seasoned with anger, topped with ketchup, eaten in silence.”
It’s perfect really. Well done.