Dear Phoebe,
Take a curtsy.
Never a bow.
That's what you said little girls
should do.So after our fifth grade performance, with you on the piano and me on the violin, you curtsied and I bowed.
How cute, people cooed.
How our mother's eyes twinkled
as they saw our lives joined
right at the hip.
In our joined hands they saw
a new dawn.
A new dawn that you were
already charmed by.Something bloomed that night.
Something more than what they saw.My knees, they ached to curtsy.
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Killing Samuel and Moving On
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