POCKET SHRINK

            Warp

Feet tangled in sheets
sun blazing through the window
my sister sleeps beside me
undisturbed by my staring.
She has a new silhouette.
Longer and her hip has rounded.
That curve is taking her away
to places I cannot go.
I slide my hands down
my flat frame of bones and ridges
find comfort in straight lines.
But only for a moment.
Bodies change.
They do not last.
I cannot move past
this first brush with mortality.
I elbow my sister.
"Wake up," I shout.

Bridget Harwell