Photograph
Lyn Lifshin
My father sister and
I in the trees with
our hair blowing. My
sister as usual has
something in her
hands and grins in
a way no one could
say no to, dancing
in restaurants
until she pulls in
to herself at 19
like the turtles
she collects. But
here shes the sweet
pouter, my fathers
pockets bulge with
things, the gum
hell give us in
the brown chair
later reading the
funnies. Ive got
a little pot and
my arms are heavy,
my father touches
us both lightly
as if hes not
sure were real
Return to Archive
|