—for my sister, Rosemarie (1956–2010)
The youngest of us four, you were the first
To ride a horse—in fact, the only one.
The first of us to write a book: A Horse
Called Lightning. You drew its pictures, too.
The library at Surfside Elementary
Bound two copies in blue—they rest on the shelf.
You collected figurines of horses large
And small—those shapes of speeding beauty.
Girl of the four legs, you grew into the woman
Of the four wheels, the first to drive a sports car:
A Mustang. No matter what the weather, you drove
With the top down. Laughing, you forced the wind
To gallop, jealous it could not keep up.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 37 Number 7, on page 28
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