“You have to know what you’re doing”, my sister says
And she’s been through a lot
A flood and a fire,
A box of butterflies, milk thistle
Though I know
She’s still never been to Seattle
“I have to figure out what I want to sound like”
I reply, felling silly and cheaply made
Because my tongue is lots of moved things
Green and brown and rare,
A sip of Pinot Noir
Almost like blood
My name is written here so lightly
Every time it fades I have to rewrite it
And so
She plays this game,
She reminds me to be gentle
But though I try,
I feel as if I’m missing something or lost something
Perhaps an important moment,
Transparent and sharp
Weird and meaningful
That symbolizes how quickly things can go bad
Shannon Wolfe is a long-time San Francisco resident who has contributed work to Forum Magazine, Sandy Magazine, and Scary Monsters.
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