My Sister’s City
May 4th, 2005
By Archived Story
She strides the streets pounding
the ground with her feet.
Her arms are strong, waving taxis
to us with neon echoing off her.
She wears her stripes like a cheetah,
sturdy and locked in her skin.
She hands me her coat
in her city, and I’m different.
I wear her coat and I’m different.
I’m lost in Chinatown,
telling people I’m from Portland,
Olympia, Pittsburgh, Denver.
Start myself over with anyone who asks.
I wear her coat and I’m different.
It’s heavy. The cotton gets inside me,
changes my skin to something stronger.
