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To my sister, the artist
Kate Marquam

the day we met, you handed me 
a ball of yarn and taught me to knit
using only my fingers. you tied 
our hands together, demanded
we construct a chain so long 
that no matter how far apart 
we stood, we’d still be connected.  
years later, you wove that knitting
into a tapestry for my grandmother’s 

christmas gift. little sister, you 
can make art from anything. 
clearance-bin fabric, leftover 
scraps of family cut at odd angles 
around a missing father, your own 
body.  ballet has taught you 
to contort yourself into others’ 
creativities.  it asks a precise 
harshness that I see in the snapback 
unapology of your wit, but not 

your pirouette.  I beg you, little sister,
stay soft.  may your ribcage 
never be serrated and starving.
may you always be just a little
off-beat from the crowd, keep
that ballerina grace, but not
the conformity.   I was done 

finding things to love about 
this world until I saw what you 
could do with it. keep making joy 
from everything you can get 
your hands on.  don’t you ever 
bend to anyone else’s beautiful.