—to my sister <br /> <br />Because the moon in late October made landmarks glow: the broken <br /> gate, our yard <br /> <br />full of stones, the attic window <br /> <br />suddenly foreign, across its face <br />a blue dissolve. In spite of that, the farm <br /> <br />remained an arrangement (barn <br />behind the house, pond <br />across the road) and a girl sometimes <br /> <br />feels torn. We turned our dresses inside out, <br />ran into a grove. We played <br /> <br />you're blind, Molly, try to find me. <br />It was a family game: get left <br /> <br />in darkness. I climbed <br />up into the oak, listened for your voice <br />until my name became <br /> <br />a sound from the other side, from the poor <br />order of the world. I came back <br /> <br />because I had to. And believe me, you who are fragile <br />and so faithful, I hated to return <br /> <br />materializing through trees.<br /><br />Kate Northrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hiding-2/
