annie’s younger sister
a girl who held a quieter almost
grownup wisdom in her calmer
eyes protected by her cloak
cascade of dark brown curls
I hope protected by the saga
of her sweet intelligence
oh she was young
she was a girl who watched
and waited for her chance

one day a fluffy cub
the next a boisterous adolescent
sowbear rough-haired solid muscled
ignorant of her indoor impact –
how annoying punching me
over and over in the upper arm
could be – more seriously, when
everyone sat up long-faced that
winter worried night when she
and Kathy Charley ran away

some girls looked native American
some Mongolian some downright Irish
fair and freckled – she looked
Inuit, with round brown cheeks,
sparkling eyes, stream of straight
black hair – if from the
north in any sense, it
showed in her reverence for
Father Sun, her adoption of
his manner when he shone

fair, freckled like an Irish
girl, soft brown hair in Farrah
Fawcett wings, pillowy bosom,
wide smile full of porcelain
teeth, giddy vibrations in your
eyes, untouchable you float above
the ground, your chores, your classes,
your ferocious roommates –
maybe due to the inhalants
no one ever caught you sniffing

plagued with a variety of
syndromes – acne, FAS?, poor personal
hygiene, nearsightedness, bad teeth, and
then she got bitten by
a spider – see what that
venom can do to tender
belly skin – she was also
blessed with the caring of
her younger sister who changed
her dressings til it healed