To understand my sister’s love
you must know that in 1989
I had to retake biology
during summer school
the entire month of July.
You must know I savored stories
but fled every tome and textbook,
that with every section heading
my train of thought derailed more.
You must know I suffered that summer,
weather so beautiful the beach beckoned,
but my body, my body was a too big body,
hips wide, thighs thickening, I wanted the water.
You must know that I was fourteen still,
and she was seventeen, almost eighteen,
sent to pick me up, and when she walked
into school, she overheard Erika and Leslie
bashing my body, outside the open door
of the classroom where extra help happened.
I hope you’re not friends with them
she said to me as soon as I walked out.
But not just to me, to everyone in the hall
who could hear. And then after that
she turned, stared at them. Pointed.
Then she kicked open the school door,
like some raging, Birkenstocked ninja
and with her I walked that open space
into the haze-filled quad, to our car,
and she was definitely speeding then
down Winnetka Avenue, Sheridan Road,
a sharp left onto Lake Avenue,
until water was all we could see.
Written beside “How Sisters Love” by Renee Watson
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