(21) For My Sister on her 23rd Birthday

Because we rest inside the tension
      of weighty pain and buoyant hope,
because we're only floating
      on the surface of this life,
and because we're learning to harness
      all the wind that tries to blow us over,
we are, for the purpose of this poem,
      two boats.

And maybe we're in different oceans,
but that doesn't mean I don't know what it's like
to look at all your loved ones on the shoreline
and know you can't go back for them,
to know we can't go back to the bay
that used to hold us as we played,
where grown-up in swim trunks would splash
at safe but permissive distances
and laugh as I'd do anything you said,
cause you were my captain.

But we came into our own--
to each, her own boat,
her own sails,
carving her own trails through water
that never promised to be easy
but smooth sailing never made a skilful sailor,
like they say.
A good ship-mate is hard to find these days,
but don't forget you're sturdy as your mother,
free-wheeling as your father,
far-flung as your crazy little sister,
and smart as the sharpest captain I've met.
And you may not know where you're going,
but you'll make it.