I was born by sleight-of-hand
wished into existence by a
three-year-old magician
honey-haired girl at the lemonade stand
standing quiet at the crossing guard
small hand empty
waiting for a sidekick to cartwheel through forests with.

I came to colour like Polaroid,
a once dark space now smiling
my sister’s lips an ‘o’ to a dandelion heart
we linked arms and left together
pillow-case trick-or-treats.

I was summoned here
to stand watch, to pillow-fort, to tissue tears and hug tight,

to save her seat if I get here first,
or simply to bookmark, hold her place,
until she comes back.

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