Little Sister

Your cunning brain covered in a green beanie cap,

Your curious eyes closed to imagine the dazzling sights,

Your candid hands trying to fit the whole in your clasp,

And your chortles send me back to the sixteenth day of December.

The unposted letters, the futile babble is all I need

Month-long summer, afternoon slumber in a princess crib.

Invisible strings tied around my wrist is my life’s gist

And I can find you in the loft you run away from the ghost.