Monday, June 15, 2015

a woman birthday

On my birthday,
I drew a line in the sand,
and the earth cracked.
I drew a line in the sand,
and told my sister that he crawled into bed with me and put his hand down my pajama pants when I was twelve.
I drew a line in the sand,
and told my sister about the care packages he sent me in college, with underwear and candy.
I drew a line in the sand,
and told my sister I saw warning signs in her daughter, my four-year-old niece.
I drew a line in the sand,
and the earth cracked.

I drew a line in the sand,
and my sister said, “He probably thought you were me.”
I drew a line in the sand,
and my sister said, “I don’t believe you. Goodbye.”
I drew a line in the sand,
and my sister never called me again.

My big sister who named me when I was born.
My big sister who nursed me through chicken pox when I was a kid.
My big sister who used my middle name when she was disappointed in me.
My big sister who let me hold the dog leashes on walks.
My big sister who always gave me the funny birthday cards I treasured most.
My big sister who played music from other countries.
My big sister who took me to city events for kids to show me someone cared.
My big sister never called me again.
Because on my birthday,
I drew a line in the sand,
and the earth cracked.

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