Alixa Brobbey

Dream Catcher

My baby sister is a dream catcher;

her fingers are fleshy little nets. Last week

she caught a butterfly with them, trapped

it in her hands like a small pearly fish, and

 

placed it on fresh leaves in a tight jar, where

its colorful wings reflected around

the room, like little panels in the windows

of a medieval Christian temple. On

 

day I, the butterfly was rainbow

on the inside, and parchment on the outside, but

by day III, it had turned the ashy shade

of a dying elephant. (I swear I heard it crying.)

 

My baby sister is a dream catcher:

she caught liberty in her palms and taught it

captivity. But my sister is also an angel:

when she saw Whitney was choking,

she opened the jar and set her free

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