I want
to tell her all
about Ian St. Clair.
I want to hug her up
close.
I want to say,
Let’s you and me
get outta
here.
But Liz
is blurry-eyed.
And she won’t say
a thing.
Still,
when Momma
leaves the room for a smoke,
my sister
reaches for
my hand,
her fingers weak.
she says.
The words come out
sounding fat
like Liz’s tongue is a sponge
filled with water.
I lean close.
What’s that?
I say.
My eyes fill with tears,
but none spill over.
It has been so long
since I have cried,
my eyes feel like
hot, dry
cement.
Shhh,
Liz says,
shhh.
She gives my hand
light,
like she has no
strength.
I clutch her fingers
touch her hair
feel confused
at be careful.
I say,
All right.
I will.
There’s a window
in this room,
small and square.
It’s filled with mesh screen
to keep people out.
(To keep people in?)
Late afternoon sun
touches the carpet.
That blue-green spot is
than the rest.
Warm-looking.
The air conditioner
turns on
with a low hum.
The curtains give a gentle wave,
like they say
good-bye.
And all the time I watch,
I think,
Be careful.
Be careful.
And I wonder,
of what?
Be careful of what?
Do I tell Momma?
I say to Liz.
Do I let her know
to be careful too?
I talk close to my sister’s face
Her breath smells funny.
Do I smell like peanut butter?
Guava jelly?
Liz tries to turn
her head
but she can’t.
It’s like
it weighs too much.
But she makes a face.
Her teeth just showing.
A thin and almost-not-there
face.
Momma comes bouncing in then,
her voice announcing herself,
too loud for this
quiet moment.
You getting her to talk,
Hope?
Momma says.
nothing.
Doctor says it’s normal.
Momma waits
to hear from me,
something she doesn’t do.
She talking to you?
Liz’s eyes are closed now.
She’s moved her hand
from mine.
Like we weren’t
touching
at
all
before.
I don’t know why
but I lie.
She didn’t say a thing,
I say.
I just been whispering to her.
about Ian St. Clair.
I don’t look Momma in the eye.
Instead,
I pat Liz’s long auburn hair.
Braided.
Let me say one
last thing to your sister
here,
Momma says.
You go wait by the front desk.
So I go . . .
sort of.
Really I stand right next
to the door
of my sister’s room.
But I can’t hear anything
being
said, even though I strain to.