My sister sits on a rough branch
Feet kicking arrhythmically
Needles falling like hail.
Birds fly past her
In sharp bursts of white
I study the trunk of each leg,
Listen to the notes of the lullaby
Our father sang in a lower key.
I pick up a rock
Shade my eyes.
She is higher than I can throw.
This is how it has always been.
Sarah Borsten graduated from the 2014-2015 Poetry Certificate program at the IPRC. Her poetry has appeared in Jerkpoet, VoiceCatcher, Roanoke Review, and SUSAN / The Journal. She leads a double life working for a local HR consultancy, finding grays between the black and white lines.
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