Darlene Young

Sisters

Litter mates. Glitter mates. Mirror

of what you hate, what you adore

about yourself. Sleep together on the floor.

Giggles and snorts, kicks, forts

of chairs and furry blankets. Fury. Tangle.

Tussle and brush. Braid and wrangle, pulling hair;

it’s just not fair. One of you is picked.

Not it! On your mark, get set and go! Kicked

gameboards; slam and pout. Crossing the street

when the mean dog is out. I dare you.

A secret meeting place under the willows

against the fence. Sheets and pillows.

Toothbrushes, blood, things buried in mud. 

All-ee, All-ee in free! Quit looking at me.

Canned peaches, cold beaches. You

and not-you;

anyone but you.

So sick of that piano song! Scented

markers. Shotgun! Wishing she was anyone.

Wanting to be anyone. Else. Lure the cat

to your lap from hers, pointing out

how loud he purrs. Making cookies.

Making up. Stealing make-up. Just shut up.

Together, bang the pots on New Year’s.

Pretend that you don’t hear her tears. Her

bad boyfriend that you hate. And yours.

Get home late. Will you, won’t you? Tattle-tell.

Pounding on the bathroom door, shirt that’s wadded

on the floor. You,

not you.

Share a mattress in the tent,

trees and stars and what you meant.

The thrilling doorbell. That weird noise

she makes in her throat. You both finish

the movie quote. Belting songs in underwear,

saying that you love her hair. Midnight soda run,

car windows down—U2 blasting to the edge of town.

Knowing look, shared favorite book,

all the things

you’ll always keep.

Someday, you’ll rock her child to sleep.

Darlene Young is the author of three poetry collections (most recently, Count Me In from Signature Press, 2024). She teaches writing at Brigham Young University and has served as poetry editor for Dialogue and Segullah journals. Her work has been noted in Best American Essays and nominated for Pushcart Prizes. She lives in South Jordan, Utah. Find more about her at darlene-young.com and @darlylar.