Another Summer, Another Workshop with Jack Powers. The Result? Another Poem For My Notebook with @cwpfairfield.edu

It's 1993. My sister

is wearing a black leotard
and a long floral skirt.
She's in Sherburne, and
the marching bands are
parading, the storms are
forming as they play.
Because I'm 21,
I know that her curls
are from permed hair,
& the Days of Our Lives
she watches with mom.
She is listening to
Edie Brickel on a cassette,
and a Marlboro Light is
exhaled while in her car.
I think about that church
where my friend was marrying,
such ritual, with the consequence
of age. Tuxedos. Banquets.
Steps towards adulthood.
Because I'm 21,
I don't know yet
how much youth is wasted.
The car is black like our dog,
and the chaotic skies.

When my childhood friend
greets me in the driveway
to see how I am, his face
tells a story I did not
want to know. Hi, he says,
Good to see you. How are you?
My family wasn't home
even if it was 6 pm on a
weekend night in Clay.
My older sister pulls in
and Peter Boy takes off
on his bike. Cynde's eyes
know the same narrative that
Pete's did, and my teeth
know how to bite my lips.
Summer. A car is totaled,
but my sister is still alive.