My Little Sister Wants to Join the Military

A poem for my little sister Chelsey, who enlisted this year.

I watch my sister hold a machete when she’s five years old, blade dull, but still able to efficiently massacre the grass.

She’s ten and we’re camping when dad pulls the trigger on a speckled rabbit. He gives her its tail; she pets it like a beloved friend.

Her first trophy.

She’s twelve and stopped crying a long time ago. She hunts with her own rifle, losing track of how often she’s brought an animal to its knees.

Her hands are warm

As she holds me

And tells me everything will be alright