I hate hearing her shout.
It makes my tummy feel funny.
But mostly I feel bad
for getting Trevor into trouble.
I am eight
when my sister,
Anna,
is placed
into the nest of her
white-wicker Moses basket,
newly hatched,
a chick
for me to help
Mum
raise
for the whole summer holiday.
Crying
for her thumb to suck
when I tuck her hands
under her
tiny torso.
Anna is a living doll.
A brown-skinned Barbie.
Mum lets me pick out
her outfit each morning.
When
school starts again,
I count down the hours
until
I can run
