I look at the photo of my sister and me
standing in the summer sun
long ago and far away

she is tall and lean
in her pink dress with the bow in back
straight blonde hair
so fine it sparkles in the sunlight
mother called them angel hairs
as she ties them back with silky ribbons

I am small and dark.
freckles blemish my long nose
uncomfortable in my green dress
knobby knees turned in
blotches of red across them
memories of bike rides

my sister is an adjective.
she is beautiful. lovely. graceful. calm
I am a verb.
running. scraping. jumping. stumbling.

my hair is coarse and cut short
as if I bowl had been placed upon my head
my bangs stick up
held there with sweat and dirt
nose scrunched
head cocked to one side
glaring into the sunlight
my teeth showing just past my silly grin

my sister looks off to the side
she is wistful and peaceful
she is ethereal
her body sways back and forth
a sapling in the wind
deep in thought
she does not smile
I wonder what she is thinking


I look at my sister across the room
sitting in a chair reading
one leg crossed over the next
back straight, hair fixed
she is ladylike
able to turn pages without making noise

I am slumping on the couch
head propped on my arm
face small in frustration
leg swinging back and forth
fingers tapping
I am restless

my sister is an adjective.
pretty. attractive. elegant. peaceful.
I am a verb.
moving. harassing. thumping. progressing.

I wonder what she is thinking.
I wonder who is happier.
Is it better to be a description
or a movement