TEN YEARS APART

You saw scandal in the tiny pink oval
poking through my sock.
Waterfalls terrified with their white-lioness roar
and you always held my hand
tightly in the park, in case the pigeons or
squirrels chance to feel gregarious.

I'd bring a hibiscus, and when you'd wanly smile
My fingers would dutifully dissect the fusia glory, and I'd watch your mouth,
hoping you'd be impressed by the pistil and elegant stamen
(and hoping just a little you'd be impressed that i remembered the difference)
But the orange-golden velvet dust angered your dress-front with familiarity
so we'd go home.

What would you be like if Gabriel had married you?
Not my gargoyle, guardian older sister.
I think you'd plunge through the brambles for blackberries too,
because he's fond of jam,
and the fragrance of my wet-moss garden
would remind you of mermaid's hair & other fabulous
and magical things he used to paint.

Now look at her, at her un-uncovered ruby-redness. She still hides and lies long buried;
and though I admire her & think her beautiful and careful,
my ten-year-old testimony is not heavy enough to mint,
so my unwedded sister refuses to spend.