fair counsel, take two

[godream]

A better version of this, I think.

"I hate her,"
my sister said. Using a sing-song tone
as if addressing a pet, or someone else's child --
"You've got a lot on your plate, dear, a lot on your mind."
We laugh. We are clever and angry and resentful of authority.

But later, I find myself staring down her nameplate,
laden with backpack, excuses, and insecurities,
needing someone to reassure me with therapist cliches,
and tell me I am fine.

I pop pink bubbles as I try to explain,
words and gum tasteless, dull in my mouth.
Before I leave, she enourages me to relax in her sofa.
"Take a breath," she says, "from deep in your lungs. Girls today
worry too much about their weight to really breathe."

Weeks pass before I mention the visits to my parents.
"You know you can always talk to us,"
they say. I don't ask why they made my sister go.
I can't tell them anything
about why not.

But sometimes when I cry now
I close my eyes and breathe in deep,
feel my lungs swell with oxygen,
as if I'm about to blow out candles
and make a wish for the next year.

I taste the nervous anticipation,
quivering, electric on my tongue
and then exhale.

Comments

[memoryanddesire.livejournal.com]

The tone is too reminiscent of a prose piece.

Look with attention to image, it will create a better poem, in the end.