In childhood, adults are mysterious.
My sister, 13 years older, seemed
Part parent, part princess
And totally enchanting.
WW II raged and I endured
Second grade, while
She smoked cigarettes,
Listened to swing
And had boy friends
Glamor was her’s
With its mysterious
Potions and lotions
A magical ritual.
She welcomed me into the mystery
Allowing me to watch
Helping me to tame my hair
To explore the secrets of makeup
My sister understood
The agonies of adolescence
The need for a defender
When separating from
The ties of childhood.
She was there, and then
She wasn’t…
Off to live
Her life.
– jml
