I spent my adolescent years
immersed in ‘boyish’ play–
no Barbie dolls or dance premieres
to soften village frays.

Each night I’d fold my hands and pray
with mud-caked fingernails
for God to send a girl my way
to play act fairytales.

Alas! The years absorbed my wails
and dimmed my purest dream
while fate allowed a shift in scales
with daughters’ rosy gleams.

One winter day I witnessed screams
beside my gray-haired mom
and felt the wings of Seraphim
apply a healing balm

to bygone tears and white-pressed palms
of unremembered faith
with preemie eyes of panicked calm–
her entrance worth the wait.

My heart embraced her strung-out state
and set my blood ablaze,
though I could never kindle hate
when selflessness outweighed–

a mom agreed for mine to raise
one precious baby girl
and on that raw December day
my sister changed my world.

Addiction eased and pith unfurled,
revealing spunk and grace
and though adulthood duties surged,
I doted on her perfect face.

From pageants to a high school play,
I’m still her biggest fan
despite not sharing bedroom space
or crowded minivans.

I hope I’ve shown her that she can
rely on Sissy’s love
through any bind or muddled plan–
our bond surpasses blood.