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—to my sister
Because the moon in late October made landmarks glow: the broken
gate, our yard
full of stones, the attic window
suddenly foreign, across its face
a blue dissolve. In spite of that, the farm
remained an arrangement (barn
behind the house, pond
across the road) and a girl sometimes
feels torn. We turned our dresses inside out,
ran into a grove. We played
you're blind, Molly, try to find me.
It was a family game: get left
in darkness. I climbed
up into the oak, listened for your voice
until my name became
a sound from the other side, from the poor
order of the world. I came back
because I had to. And believe me, you who are fragile
and so faithful, I hated to return
materializing through trees.
Kate Northrop
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Read poems about / on: october, sister, family, girl, sometimes, believe, house, moon, world, hate, tree, running
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