【Sadie Zeiner-Morrish】

When the late-night dishwater trickles down
The sink through clogged pipes and out the side of the garden,
I think about my sister far away.
In pictures she laughs with golden eyes and large white teeth.
Her hair is shorter and her skin darker from the Cambodian sun.
I talk to her in my head (if I wear your shirt, do you mind?)
Sometimes I feel a faint beating,
A quickening of the heart, like she has just appeared and tapped me on the shoulder.
On the weekends we call on the phone,
Midnight for her and mid-morning for me.
We stretch our hearts thin across the telephone line
And hope a little love reaches the person on the other side.