Issue/Publication: Harvard Review, # 35

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Choking on a hard candy

when she was two, my sister,

my childhood ally, turned blue

and waved her hands frantically,

trying to funnel in air. My stepfather

grabbed her by her ankles

with one huge hand, so she jerked

off the floor and hung there, trembling

over her fate. He raised his other hand

and whacked her between her shoulders

while she twisted in his grip. He

whacked again and my mother

came running, pulling her robe

around her bare breasts. What happened?

What happened? Beyond them,

where I looked through the window,

the brave girls at Brearley School

lined up to wait for the bell,

though the clang never failed

to startle, and the heavy door stuttered

as it opened. Was the world ever safe?

When was that? In their blue jumpers

and starched white shirts,

those girls looked competent

and grown-up, ready to take

what the day, in its random hurry,

offered. Not one of them ran.

I shifted from foot to foot

waiting to see if luck would love

my sister, if it would marry her

as she vomited on the floor, and breated.