For my young sister, on her 17th birthday

Although we do not know just how

we look alike, or how we're known

as sisters at a glance, my guess

is our just-matching happiness,

each in the other's company.

A brightness in our faces, eyes --

a gladdening that halos time

for us, that halos us in time:

a manifest felicity.

How could we not be family?

A blanket we shared

Misery was a blanket we shared -- though why

we huddled so long

underneath it, as if to stay warm

with this rough thing we had made together,

I do not know.

We have that cruelty of the young,

that impatience of youth

with age's creaking steps,

the carelessness which presumes

all will be forgiven,

all will be recovered ---

that swift, firm health

of body and mind that shakes off

the staying, shaking hand

and trembling voice that

whispers

we too will regret.

And also with you.

I pitied you --

your awkwardness,

your plainness,

your cat sweaters.

Middle aged, overweight, and single,

I judged you deserving

of the special censure of my sympathy.

I pitied that you came into the church alone,

Sunday after Sunday,

though so did I.

And when you sat down in the pew next to me,

I admit

that I disliked to be paired with you,

and pity

admixed with distain

was all I offered.

And that is why

when you

(listening to the voice at the altar) turned

and offered me in return

the sign of Christ’s peace,

I knew

that I had been right

to think we were not equals.

The Swimmer.

She sleeps with one arm flung over her head, like a swimmer mid-stroke. At 22, she doesn’t know where she is headed; she only knows she wants to get there fast, freestyle.

With apologies to Byron. And the rest of you.

She writes in pencil, like a drudge,

a schoolroom scribe of lectures loud:

She must write neatly, lest she smudge

and all is lost in graphite clouds.

The Welcome

Because I was mad at you,

At what you had not said,

I left the ice cubes out to melt,

And didn’t thaw the chicken

Like you had asked me to.

I pretended to forget.

I pretended to forget you, too,

And walked through the park unattached,

Smiling at strangers.

I planned to leave you

To your freezer-burned dinner

And tepid drinks.

But I came home,

Late,

Footsore,

Tired of smiling,

And put a can of soda in the refrigerator door,

So it would be cold for you

Even though there was no ice.

When I returned,

you hadn't noticed I had gone,

but smiled as if welcoming me back.