Maya Pindyck

To The Girl Who Mistakes Family For Reunion


Is your constantly hiking a way of saying
I would rather be anywhere
than at this kitchen table, staring into your eyes,
rather move through forests
with four found men than face you,
sister, at this reunion? I wouldn't understand,
would I: safe artist in the gridded city,
far from your cliffs & campfires. Still,
I sit at the opposite end of this table,
blowing a cup of tea. Rosemary
grows in our father's garden
where we once dug, long before
the battle between skyscraper & tree,
when we were two girls, only,
running inside the colonial house,
stealing cookies, building libraries,
chopping off doll hair, chucking
small friends out windows
for the simple thrill of retrieval—


* * *

Poem was originally published in Prairie Schooner. Reprinted with the permission of the author. All Rights Reserved.




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