My sister dances and twirls

like a burnt leaf in the wind,

crackling with laughter.

She snatches and catches

at strange black objects

stark against mandarin skies.

 

A sieve of ash

like icing sugar topping a cake

sprinkles our shoulders

and I can’t help but think:

it’s a forest falling upon us

and everything in it turned to dust.

 

As Mum packs boxes in the car

(a Tetris game with photos, laptops, pyjamas, toys)

I unpack new boxes of fear:

things that never frightened me before,

like a whisking west wind

and a warm summer’s day.

 

As I pick pieces of fern

from frizzled hair

my sister starts spluttering.

I run to pat her back.

‘It’s like catching snowflakes,’ she says.

‘But you shouldn’t use your tongue.’