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.’
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