stirring once again from slumber
and from dreams
(not lofty, these, but nightmares
featuring her sister,
Mercury)
reaches absently for her blanket,
the blue one
woven with the strands of hope
and so thin now as to be transparent.
ah, Mercury!
the one who has always positioned herself
to take the brunt
of mother's torrid anger
and father's firey fists,
while the rest of us line up behind,
guiltily,
affecting to whistle with desert tongues
through parchment lips,
averting our eyes
to the seemingly indifferent
stars.
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