My youngest sister’s dying first.

The old ladies march

I stood in a field of meadowfoam 

Mother, father, forgive me, for I have sinned.

I re-rewind the precious tape 

and read again the note she slipped me

Mr. Dog says he has a very important job

I’m sure there was wine, plum slices, sauce pitchers—

Look at how I never needed you

All summer I shadow your band

from the porch

how the will to survive

outlasts the will to destroy.

i didn’t look in mirrors.

All our faults are fallen leaves.

Forgive where God will not.

We skinned the thing that killed you,

boiled its flesh for soup.

Once, I fell asleep in a fire.

No one shows you how to wear your blackness

No one gives you that armour

part threat, part dare.

Because learning flints

the sphere of ideals.

Rolling off my tongue, graceful like the currents of a spring freshet

December leaning into January

and the cold months that followed.

you looked skyward too