Sometimes

By Esme Bell

My sister is nearly 

As tall as me, but holds

My hand in the cinema

And still lets me plait her

Hair, sometimes.

When she writes quick

Scalding lines in primary

Serif, genius felt-tipped,

And feeds her cats in

Gilded private light,

I remember my luck that

She chooses to listen to 

Me sometimes, and

Used to share the 

Whole of her tea party

With me, without asking.

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