Her Last Breath

My sister is older than me.
She calls gay people queer.
In one of my gay moments
she offered me an insight:
'It's better than being lonely'
I don't see her that often.

My sister is louder than me.
I tried to tell her about my son,
how I nearly lost him,
and she told me about
her neighbour' s son who
wouldn't eat breakfast.
I don't ring her that often

My sister lives far from me,
close by.
First-born,
her last breath
will steal from me
her untamed mouth,
her untuned ears,
her fierce embrace.

The way she looks like our mother.