For Megan

 A poem for my youngest sister

I was lost somewhere between 7 and 8

You, were a bundle of silly,

 spoiled and small

 I was tall

Though not quite reaching the height

to where I could appreciate you

I could count the quarters

 I found between the cushions

yet when it came to your value

It would be years

until I could do that kind of math

And now the equation all makes sense…

Two dimes, a nickel and a penny later

I’m no longer looking for change.

I’m turning to the one that remains

 beside my shoulder.

On cracked cement,

On sand and rocks

Through waves.

Through each year like a breath

That can’t be held for too long

 I proudly watch your wisdom age

though I secretly hope a small part of you

will stay young enough.

Young enough to sometimes need me.

Young enough to always learn.

Young enough to grow older.

Where joy meets a prayer,

my eyes recognize you there.

You, 3rd of 3

Half like one and half like two

Or that’s how I often saw you

Now in the very center of your soul

I see a spark all your own

That only your fingerprints can ignite

In time you’ll leave a blazing path

That will knock the wind out of heaven

And shock the rain too hard to fall

And I’ll be there

with a smile and a tear

Bragging to the stars that I know you.