late afternoon sunlight, fall sunlight
pours through our windows like water
your eyes to slits, you ask for sunglasses
I remind you the warm room is filled with
instances free of light.
Between the two of you
battles, Spartans, Celts, Afghans
wage on, small things
that crayon, that page
the very existence of a sister
you scream until your voices
hoarse
drive me to fond memories of
drunken nights under stars, my
head spinning, casual smile
plastered across me as
my hand would reach for someone else.
The chaos in my head then
was so much simpler now.
Pink. You all wear pink.
Small sister, beggar sister
shining eyes at older
desperate, wanting.
The light doesn’t dazzle you
doesn’t stall you,
screeching fishwife of a child.
Your universe starts, ends
at your stubby footprint.
Brown eyes on pink. Brown eyes
wide eyed at me, towards me
full of me, eating of me
asking for my past
my memory, things shared for meaning
then forgotten.
Wide eyes in the afternoon
clarity of a season ending.
Spin Me I Pulsate 
Thordora, I’ve got to ask you: are those last two lines inspired by a T.S. Eliot poem? I don’t remember the title, but the last line went something like: “Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.”
Sweet and lovely poem.
No, but TS Eliot is a favorite, despite all the repressed male idiocy. 😛
How lovely.