Riona

pieces of gold in a tiny bag
you hold it up in the dusty town
mountainous peaks bearing down

you blink at her and sniff
still after all these months
unwilling to speak a word

you cut felt in imperfect squares
around the pirates’ gold coins
so proud to pretend to be a Girl Scout

you are silently sick
never a whine or complaint
just your gentle soul of acceptance.

Mythili

you clip up your heavy bangs
emulating your sister’s idea
of new beginnings

every day you’d wear the
hand-me-down dress, so proud
that someone thought of you.

your old soul comes out
as we drive eight hours home:
“I need some air.”

you stand in the middle
pushing the new tire swing both ways
knowing you’ll bring them together.

Isabella

surrounded by friends
you are the happiest child
social butterfly fluttering by

you reorganize the backseat
toy bin, anal retentive mimicker
of mama’s nit-picky ways

you read reluctantly
in your sing-song voice
Charlotte spinning her magic web

sick sister in the night
you’ve grown up over night, miss,
“I took care of it.”