my sister left our house
she left her door unlocked—
her window open, the carpet damp from the storm
her bed was unmade, sheets touching the floor,
clothes tousled in between pillows
open books on her desk.
she didn't give us any warning
we hadn't known she was going to leave
until the taxi driver came to the front door
“are you the miss that called for a taxi?
do you need any help with your bags?”
the wind made her shiver; she clutched
her jacket closely about her
and with a single suitcase in her hand
and hope in her head (along with
rage, frustration, and restlessness in her heart)
she walked into the bitter march night
not once looking back
at the family who did not know her
or at the sister who would be waiting for her.