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The Old Little Sister

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I’m the old little sister
And that’s just one of my contradictions.
I guess it’s in my nature
To love the beach and hate bikinis
To call myself a friend of trees
In theory, on paper (made of them)
So I nurture the nature I’m native to
And I welcome the indecision
Inherent in each contradiction:
I cannot reach the haven of the waves
Without leaving the shelter of the sand
Do I run between the two, or stay where I am?
The cashier waits—
Paper or plastic?
Hold on a minute
While I ask Mother Earth how she prefers to kick the bucket

I’m the old little sister
Whose little older sister I mother
I’m tall and
She’s small and
For us height does not indicate age,
As I have a shortage
Of a taste for adventure
While reaching new heights is her joie de vivre.
The only adventure I take when I’m with her
Is over to the without-a-doubt maxed out speaker
Where I turn the Beatles down
Though sister wants them loud
To ensure I hear my voice through theirs,
Telling me just like I tell her,
"You say yes, I say no.
You say stop and I say go go go, oh no."
In many ways she’s my other half
The one who has fun, the one who can laugh

I’m the old little sister but I know this, sis
This, sis, is one contradiction that I know I can overcome
I won’t be old forever; someday I’ll remember to be young.





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Uncle Mike said...
Feb. 10, 2009 at 9:33 pm
Becca, You go girl! Wow. I'm very impressed. Nice turns of words and ideas. Keep writing, and getting younger!
Love, Your secret admirer
 
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