For my Sister . . .

You taught me the earliest lesson of Family
Distance means nothing between hearts
and
Two weeks of Magic can sustain 50 more.
Summer 
equaled YOU
with towering hair and painted nails
and stories of fantasical places.
Eyes sparkling blue with 
mischief of Other
burrowing into the cocoon of my childhood.
Teaching me in so many ways
that LIFE existed beyond.
And, in absence, you sent  --
carried by dead presidents -- blue ink lines
on paper to fill
the 50 weeks of gone.
Punctuated by the sharp ring of
black, wall-tethered words over wires
to hold news too large to be carried in 
an envelope.

As I was perched on the edge of grown,
you signed me up for a
monthly magic show of
words and images.
The author even carried your name - - 
speaking about demanding change
and a Voice.
I clung to those pages,
a talisman against the sea of sameness
that swirled around, 
trying to swallow my Soul, 
giving me the courage to 
scream "NO" and became the
small-town epitome of DIFFERENT,
a fighter in a Revolution
lead by women named Gloria.

Years beyond I alone stand
a Bridge between generations
looking both back 
and beyond tomorrow.
The daemons that chased 
your Spirit wedged their way
through the cracks,
stealing you away into Darkness,
occasional streaks of light
both hotter and brighter than
the Sun until, at long last, 
the weight of the journey
brought you down.

Now I stand to say, THANK YOU -
for setting my course
and telling me I had a voice,
quietly demanding 
I use it
and not hide from
honeyed-words that,
in an instant, turn sharp
as a dagger
only defeated by speaking the
Truth.

. . . . .