A large grey chair in my grandparents’
Living room in Richmond, California,
Not so much the chair but the person
Propped up inside it.
I remember nothing of her appearance,
Only the chair, which now remains in my
Parents’ living room, reupholstered
Like all of our lives.
Every element of her image at three days
Of age has been replaced by something
Far more memorable than the little dress
She wore that morning,
The cap placed on her head, the bracelet
She wore from the hospital, and her chubby
Cheeks. This was my new sister, Shira.
She was my first friend.
My two year old mind could not tell me
How she would later tease me into seeing
Her as someone completely different
From anyone else,
Let alone any boy. She gave me lessons
For manhood well before manhood, even
As her small tummy was the target
Of my unruled fist.
Her joy at Christmas, her voice joining
Mine in songs, her tears over a fish
She caught without realizing what it meant
To capture nature
Are indelible features of my childhood.
So even though three siblings were to join
Us and our lives have long separated
By choices we’ve made,
My first memory as I knelt before that chair
Is of my feeling of wonder over this new
Someone who held so much of my future
In two tiny hands.
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