My Sister Agatha Can Fly

Dad called her a princess
and mom called her Elizabeth Taylorette.  
She flew for the first time at nine.  
I was eleven.  They told me, 
“If she can do it, so can you.  Don’t be lazy.”  
I had no answer.  I was lazy.  

One Christmas, I gave Agatha a book on Icarus, 
hoping she’d fly too close to the sun. 
I doubt she read it.  Sometimes, 

almost twenty years later, she drops in
from the sky.  We eat graham crackers.  
She flies home.  I look down
at my bare feet, so rooted to the ground
that violets grow from my toes. 

Kenneth Pobo has a new book from Circling Rivers called Loplop in a Red City.