Sister, on St. Patty's day I stood
In our backyard and screamed
To dislodge our ruined
Whiffle balls from the smiling hedge.
The sky was yellow,
Hot and certain
Like it is tonight
Two hundred and twenty-seven
Miles south.
You are so gone. All that's left is
Your toothless picture on
The easel, this thistle,
The sense of driving away
That hangs behind my eyes.
Spiders still scare Judy, but I swat
Them no longer. My soup last night
Looked like your stain.
It rains silver drugs on me and I
Grab everyone that
Passes to cry on them
'Cause it's a fool who don't.
Small girl from a pinecone tweener
I wanted to kill you when you
Rode your bike faster than me and now
Your lips are heavy with sediment
And posture and grease and pistols and
Won't you take those earrings off
And be my sister again?
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