How do I say this? You look like your sister.
I mean the spitting image and her image would most likely be spitting.
The kids were cursed with candy corn smiles
and parents on pills, beer, needles…
Needless to say, choices were chosen
she became her mother. But her sister.
Her sister looks exactly like she did
when we were her age.
I am taken back to the back yard.
That slamming door. Their lived-in camper
with a million kids clinging to legs
and chests with missing or brown-black
Hot Iowa summers filled the rooms of the condemnable house
with sour smells that turned the crawling wallpaper to decay.