Undertow

Newspaper crumpling, my sister
sops up vinegar from a bowl,
the window squeaking as she scrubs
at its watery promise.

She’s taller than me, even on her knees,
hair back, jaw set as her hand
circles then dips, circles then dips,
stops. Even I can see she’s distracted

from the messy house by sunlight
sliding through glass in long angular plates
as if life is about to bloom.
The ice in our mother’s glass shifts

and my sister’s braid sways,
her slender arm returns
to circling. I have no idea
who I will be without her.

Melody Wilson’s poems appear in Catamaran, Watershed, VerseDaily, West Trade Review, Emerson Review, Crab Creek Review, and elsewhere and her manuscript Madre Dura was a finalist for the Catamaran Prize and the Louisville Review National Poetry Prize. She received her MFA from Pacific University. Find more of her work at melodywilson.com.