poetry WHEN A SISTER LOSES A SISTER by Elisabeth Sharp McKetta When a sister loses a sister she must use her body for two.
The night your sister disappeared you were at the pool with your friends, looking for an alibi so that you wouldn’t have to swim. When a sister loses a sister, the living sister has a choice.
Collect all of the books on sister-losing that exist and consider writing another. Retire to your room and read for years and years until you have a philosophy for why you lost her.
Or move into
one part of your body that she can’t move. Your bones are pure blood and marrow and can break if you make them.
Let your belly protrude and learn to dance— play rugby and get hurt and somersault down hills and break your bones and let branches scrape your arms
When you lose a sister your hair must run long, not cut like a boy in mourning. How cold can your body get, and how hot? What pulse is that that wasn’t there before?
You ask what to do now.
You must drip your bathing suit down the road and walk home.
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