Poems About Family and Friends

You don't keep score. That's how I know.

My sister's hands look like mine—same short fingers, same bitten nails, same tendency to talk with them when the mouth runs out of words.

We grew up in the same house but different childhoods—you got the version after they figured some things out.

Nobody sits where they're supposed to.

The most important conversations of my life happened over food I can't remember and meals I'll never forget.