The short
sharp
shock
makes her cry,
tears flickering down her face
from the lightning storms behind her eyes,
as she trembles with electric energy.
her paper-thin
prayers of glass
keep her warm, when they glow
like fireflies in the gloom,
but the worry hums above my brow,
a smirking static buzz left to remind
that I cannot save her
from a too-sharp world.
today I try
to clamber inside her aura,
making alterations,
repair works to the damage.
my heart snags on the switchboard.
soothing the sparks of indignant pain,
sometimes I cannot help but wonder if my little sister
will ever short-circuit her soul.
