To My Sister by Steve Porterfield

You left home 
When you were seventeen 
In your gray Honda Civic 
With the Buckethead sticker in the window
You would call home crying 
In need of money 
I’m ashamed to recollect 
Mom and dad laughing at your distress
Over a decade has lapsed 
Since last I saw you 
and I remember you sitting cross-legged 
On the living room floor 
Playing your white guitar and 
Singing softly to yourself 
Or how when we were kids you could 
Mimic any melody on your violin
It’s like you were in harmony with the unseen 
Composing a symphony of what you wanted life to be 
You were so talented 
But no one took notice
Kind and gentle gypsy 
Unchaperoned
When your bike was stolen 
After you crashed 
Skin torn open to bone 
You couldn’t walk 
Mom slapped you
Now you trek into the jungles of Colombia 
You pull back the veil of a strange Earth
Sleep on the sands in Hawaii 
And make friends with the birds 
Just like Robinson Crusoe
I don’t know if you are 
Running or searching 
Explorer 
Surveyor 
I would never have imagined 
The most timid person of my childhood 
Would become the bravest 
Devotee of beauty
While you 
Set your slender foot on 
Your next destination 
I hope your calypso 
Has brought you peace
Years pass between 
Letters with foreign stamps 
As you dance 
To the baton of a conductor 
Only you can see
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