for lexie

i turned eighteen in the rocky
mountains, the bar floor sticking to
my stilettos, balance like a
baby deer, as your stepmum
instructed a hoard of cowboys to
buy me shots.

somewhere, in a welsh town,
you hadn’t yet learned to walk,
cooing in a crib you refused to sleep in
your eyes too busy, taking the world in

robyn’s was christened in happy birthday
sung in portuguese. a mixed-throng
of friends and strangers deep
in the heart of a nightclub in joão
pessoa. six inch heels atop
the table, strobe lights across
her cheek.

halfway across the world, your
story hadn’t yet started. each step she
took, a thread seeking you.

an ocean’s distance, i don’t really know
how eighteen met you. whether you
strolled to work with a sparkler for
a heart, the centre of all your
friend’s wishes. or if it passed
like any other, your eyes fixed
on a polaroid of oceanic skies
and maori in your ear.

i’ve watched through screens
as you’ve grown taller, sharper. what
a strange thing, to gain family before
ever meeting. a slow graft. years of
facetime, before joining the small city
gathered in your corner.
learning to speak your
dialect, so you can hear when i
cheer each next step. each
next thread.