Siblings

To me my little sister exists
because she’s something
other than hallucination

No, not hers, it’s too rich
to be the source; it couldn’t
come from self-creation

She’s as real as a sister can
be – going back forty plus 
(and a bit) majestic years

Dreaming random dreams,
being married, raising kids
but making no futile waves

She shares confidences like
an ice-cream cone trapped
in wafers of innocence

She’s real but she’s yet to
learn which wages she’s
paid endow her voice

I listen because she made me
her Big Brother – and thus, on
ages, she’s my Little Sis...
© 18 December 2008, I. D. Carswell