catapult magazine

Little sister

by Erin Tuttle Lockridge

When we were young,
you would walk so close,
arm touching mine from shoulder to elbow,
stride eager and leaning.
And I would edge away until I was one foot
on the sidewalk, one in grass,
shrugging my stubborn liberty from your summered skin.

Today, we stand in church, swimming
in the wide eyes of the icons,
their gaze deep and kind.

My elbow touches yours
as two fingers and thumb kiss
brow, then belt buckle, right shoulder
then left.
Your skin is soft and incensed, and
you don’t shrug away.

The spicy-sweet scent of something
deeper than us both
draws me out and you away.
Tomorrow you will leave and I will continue
in your absence: one foot on, one foot a little off,
because I know it is me now,
leaning into you.