you were a girl then too. I carried a red and black stuffed monkey. You slept with cats. I played vinyl Bee Gees crooning to save me. You wore a headband and had a devilish little squint in your October eyes. I wished the wind would stop ruffling my bangs, all cowlicks. You dared ski slopes. I was afraid I’d be thrown over the handlebars of a purple one-speed whose front wheel I could hardly control. Neither of us was sure where our father or brother were. I lay by a neighborhood pool, teen skin turning to California brown and remembered how we poured lemon juice onto our dishwater hair, braiding it wet to wave. You took to drumming circles before me, your true faithful spirit still at home in the Ro