A version of this can also be found in the book I self-published, Strangers Without Flaws.
Sister, I remember your bright crimson cape in the winter,
a vivid spot of life in the middle of white death.
I remember waking from my dozings to find you had draped it over me
like a blanket, surprisingly soft. We were so poor at times.
We had no beds to dress in quilts and shams.
I remember your pride in that beautiful thing
when all else was out of reach. Sometimes
we couldn't remember our last meals, and you stole for us,
sweet fruit and warm bread disappearing
under that red cloak without a sound,
your bearing and poise prompting the farmers at the market to smile
and call you "princess", handing you jewel-bright sweets.
I wish you remembered those days.
O sister, what dreams led you to run ahead of me and leave your soul behind?
What vision tempted you, like Odysseus dreaming on waves of siren song, to dash yourself upon the rocks of this world
and dye your cloth a darker red?
Your cloak spreads out before me in my dreams
like a path
I cannot follow.