Posts Tagged ‘sister’

are looking for dinner

perhaps some macaroni and cheese perhaps

some potatoes or beef, maybe salad


the boy pushing the cart

might be their brother or

perhaps a son


in aisle 5 they can find plush pink towels

or further in light blue t-shirts or swimsuits

or chilled water or cold, sweet ice cream

in flavors like salted caramel or chocolate


my son fears their colonial dresses

and the air of a cult that shushes

as the group of them wander by

he says if you went to Colorado City

you might never come home


watching them, I believe Walmart

might be a version of heaven

if only briefly

providing solace in texture

and form, in temperature,

in the way everything

you see is brightly lit

and available for a price

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We told her she was adopted, held her

blankie out the second story window. We

made her cry. We told her we were

going to play detectives, and she

had to be the secretary. We made

her eat mud, or at least we tried. She

climbed up the silo while we played.

She must have been only three.

Someone had to go get Dad. I

remember her up there, the sun

making her body one small dark line.

She was the youngest one.

Not matter how old you are, we told her,

year after year, you will always be younger.

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