A Child Learns to Write

One summer,

my sister’s friend

knocked her down

in our neighbor’s

driveway,

and accused her

falsely

of stealing her

Barbie doll.

My sister

dropped

to the ground,

hands bracing

her fall,

her head limp

as an overripe melon,

while her friend

jabbed a

finger

at the air

between them.

Humiliated and defeated,

my sister steadily,

but awkwardly

got to her feet and

walked home.

I followed

behind her,

my hands

heavy and useless.

Later that day,

in the mud beneath

our ivy-choked backyard gate,

I wrote:

“I hate her”---

My lonely act of

Solidarity.

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