Posted 30.11.12 in Writing
It seems I’ve misplaced my little sister.
Oh it is nothing – just a sister –
a child like any other.
(Does my older sister love me? One can never be sure.)
My sister has our mother’s eyes and
lashes that lick the loops of her cheekbones,
just like Grandmother’s.
But otherwise, just another child.
(I dug my fingers into the soil once and found a worm
with enough hearts to turn the Black Sea
red. My sister didn’t appreciate the gift.)
Why! I hear news that the human race is growing like
fungi in a compost heap–
with a similar sporangio-sporic fervor–
With so many people, what is a lost sibling?
I’ll swap my sister for a little Nepali child,
or a pair of Slovenian twins.
(Does my sister love me? I’ll sit in the bathroom stall number eight
to see if anyone comes looking. )
She races around the train station in a fit of hysteria, tearing her hair
out chunk by chunk.
“My sister! I’ve lost my baby sister!” but the world
continues to spin nonchalantly around her like a thick soup.
Of course, these newly adopted children will not laugh like my sister –
not that same honey-coated chuckle – but what does that
matter? A child is a child…
She flaps her hands about wildly,
tears trickle down her face.
is a child is a child. And my child…
Her cheeks swell, the pink veins under
her eyes bulge. Her body has been taking over by a violent tremor.
My sister…my sister. Oh, my dear darling sister.
My poor dear darling sister is gone.
She flutters around the train station
like a butterfly caught in rain.
YPN team: Saga captures the intense anxiety of this situation, creating a frantic atmosphere that moves deftly between the interior world of the speaker and the outside world of the train station.
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