siblings

when i start to cry
on the blue geometric rug
i hear you listening

a choked sob
works its way in-between
the jagged edges
and your arms are on my back

your fingers soften and
you look at me so gently
and hug me sweetly
asking me what is wrong

you are wise beyond your years
in your orange t-shirt
and i suddenly am so embarrassed
that i have ever been that bratty older sister

he'll forget it
you tell me
sometimes i am mad at you
but i get over it
you tell me

drawing words of wisdom
from your nine years of life

and i know you are right
and it makes me so happy
to see you like this

i hate the boys that bully you at school
that talk about your sneakers nastily
and tell you they are not your style
whatever suits you is your style

you sitting on this rug with me is your style

i wish i could hold you in my hands
and blow you softly onto the world
letting you glide like a paper airplane
until you found your home