she never occupied the same
womb as I, we never hopscotched/skinned knees,
double/dutched/played hide and go seek/
but we have the same blood
the ink scrawled across scraps of paper
at our desks, leaking through dozens
of notebooks. warming the cool side
of our pillows and prayers whispered across
cotton sheets witness to my dirty laundry,
but bearer of what makes clean;
she is iron sharpening wrinkles.
no passive participants
fights for our sisterhood
decries no new friends
1/3 joking, the rest
she meant it
destined for this.
we have the same Father
our blood types, His.
when it rains
she has our umbrella
otherwise we both run for it.
her tears are a reflection of mine,
her laughter, an echo. We did not grow
up together, but she is my sister by God’s
command. The promise is still