To My Sister

I face this month suddenly

So different from the past

I pause

It stares back

I had nothing to say

So many days

Digging for worms in the pansy garden

The one under the bay window

Where Mama would watch me grow

Baiting fish with Grandpa Joe

I'd always throw mine back

His were delicious

I watched you from that window


You never got to dig for worms

In dirt like coffee grounds, rich and dark

I never taught you

How delightful and disgusting

And brave you'd feel

After finding a wiggler in the wet soil

That lesson was something

I never wanted to have to teach

But the wind changed

I recognized the breeze bringing

That teasing cool

I stilled as I felt my fingers


Shaking and full and willing

And I thought of you

Ink spilling for you

And instead of days, vague

I face month, singular

I leave you with little

Very little matters

Few memories cling to matter

So few shared memories, atleast

(atleast should be one word, I insist)

Here I begin

All I have to share

Little wisdoms to impart

This month is for you, love