My sister said to me, ‘How come you’ve always got that look; half intelligence, half anger?’
But as we haven’t spoken in fifteen years I couldn’t answer.
In the dream we’d reached an accord.
And I guess I’ll settle for that.
I think back to our teens, living at home, when we’d stay up and watch TV together. It wasn’t so bad. But she was always heading toward conflict, while I was trying to find an escape route.
She once said, of our dad, ‘I’d rather say my piece and take a beating.’
And I said, ‘I’d rather stay quiet.’
Keep it all inside, and safe.
Which is why I write.
And why she doesn’t need to.