Indian Summer

An old poem I pulled out for my little sister:

When we were walking (away, always away
and you too little to know it then but I did)
blackberry stained Keds, soles worn smooth
your two steps to my one.
Down the tracks, rotten wood ties and steal
traps gaping, hungry for our ankles so I
watched real careful your two steps
two steps to my one.
Behind us the house an open sore, windows oozong
shame and the smell of soft things gone bad
and we are running now.
Clover trains hanging round your neck
regal Queen Anne's lace in grubby fingers,
and always the wild vines, stretching, stalking, swallowing
your small shadow.
But you didn't know so you said
tellme tellme tellme a story
      (All the better, all the better all the better
        to smell you with)
I said, walk further and look out
for snakes, slithery, slimy, scale, scary snakes.
And you laughing, laughing teeth white
picket rows, no tooth fairy theiving
and your breath fresh.
Skipping now, the heat rippling off the tracks
Indian summer hot, your hair wet curls
dark against a neck too pale.
Still keeping up, sweet sweat smell following
your two steps to my one.
Tellme Tellme Tellme, you chanted
     (All the better, all the better, all the beter
        to eat you with)
And you didn't know any better
And I was the big sisiter, the chocolate milk maker.
the high shelf reacher, the teddy bear nurse.
So I told you a fairy tale.