"You are nothing
like a sister," she said, standing
in pollen-coated grass, toes
dusted with gold.
I inhaled
the 5 pm cricket
songs catching in my throat.
"Never have
my back, never back
me up," she said.

Her bare legs were mosquito-
stuck, each insect like a pin
along the fat of a calf,
the strained tendon
of a tiny ankle.
"And you are everything
I hate about family," I said,
"and being
tied to this house."