a knot between clumsy fingers,
Maggie clenches the crayon tight
before she presents what she has drawn to me:
stretching mountains and pastel rabbits
sleep on a gritty construction paper bed.
twelve years of instruction and praise pass
before her grip
loosens.
charcoal pencils are drawn like pistols,
encouraging her tired elementary doodles
to transform into animated depictions
of the present.
i can see, in her teenage face,
the sanguine color of established passion.
i would never admit it-
not in hushed tones during dinner
or while driving over rivers
over radio noise
how proud i am to see my sister,
the artist,
emerge.
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