My Sister's House

The passage from younger brother
to only child
transpired in the ventilator’s last hiss.

I remember
sweltering summer vacation days
at your house.

The only air conditioning
cold showers and lemonade
and the breeze of our jokes.

And me riding my bike the few miles
from our house to yours.
My first real taste of freedom.

I never knew
about the beast,
by turns snarling and whimpering,

that you pushed into the closet and locked
tight before I arrived
I only saw my big sister.

And even now,
years after the last scrape of the curtain rings
around the hospital bed,

that’s still what I see.