i hold the boat steady and my sister

                   climbs in     the boat smells of lavender

                   as only the image of a boat

                   can smell of lavender in a dream
                                                         water purling at the lip     my sister

                                                         has not grown any older

                                                         my sister says

                                                         i smell like garlic
                   my sister takes the oars

                   you sit she says i row don’t you know

                   anything?     my sister’s words

                   smell strongly of washing powder 
                                                         she flinches when i touch her

                                                         shut up she says just let me row

                                                         my sister’s hands on the oars

                                                         smell of soap and some sinister 
                   cheap perfume my daughter sometimes

                   wears when she is angry     my sister

                   closes her hands on the oars

                   my sister does not see me at all
                                                         there’s the smell of kelp in the water

                                                         some rival in her head do you remember

                                                         nothing she says you say is true

                                                         i taste the snow in the air between us
                   my sister rows

                   precisely and with determination

                   the book grows soggy in her hand

                   ink     grass clippings     blood
                                                         why aren’t you helping she cries at last

                                                         thrusting the oars at me as she sheds

                                                         her crocodile tears you never do anything

                                                         the book with which she has been rowing
                   from under her lashes my sister

                   watches me     my sister’s tears

                   taste like lamingtons     my sister’s voice

                   shines with the cut of scales
                                                         my sister does not see through her crying

                                                         the flash of real fish in the flashing water

                                                         my sister sits in our small boat

                                                         in the middle of that wide little water
                   with rounded shoulders

                   the smell of iron filings

                   something burning

                   she wears our mother’s hair