Right now I

think of her like the tiny baby she was,

drinking green Kool-Aid

from a bottle,

biting the nipple so

it hung from her mouth,

and slapped her

baby chest.

The picture tucked under

the bed with

the rest—

the picture that proves

a father

a mother

and two sisters.

My own bottle of Kool-Aid.

Me on my back.

Feet supporting that

bottle.

(And Momma laughing.

Laughing!)

I say to Liz on this night,

I say,

’Member last night how

I was upset at you

’cause you couldn’t sleep?

Liz nods.

She stares off

away

like she sees past the walls

of our

room.

I smell VO5 shampoo

in her hair,

balsam flavor.

’Member I told you,

I say,

to get on out of our room

if you wouldn’t be quiet?

She cried long into the night.

Has been

weeping

for days now.

Crying when the sun

settles to rest itself

past the lip of the world.

Even in her sleep,

crying.

I was just tired then,

I say.

Thinking of that

baby

picture.

Thinking of the

Before

photos and what

they prove.

’Member afterwards I snuggled

you up,

I say,

and then we went to sleep?

Again Liz nods.

Good,

I say,

I just want you

to remember.

And I remember,

I remember,

how I promised

before

to take care of

Lizzie

who is not

as strong as me.

Momma says so.

15.

And then

this morning—

all bright for a minute—

turns dark on me

turns in on me

when

I walk into

the bathroom and

see my sister

fingering the

trigger

of the

shotgun

Momma uses to kill

pygmy rattlers

when we go

to the lake.

Lizzie looks at me

her finger just touching that

trigger

and I say,

What are you doing, Lizzie girl?

I sound just like Momma,

only not so loud.

What are you doing?

16.

I can’t see it right.

I can’t see it clear.

Did I do this wrong?

17.

She’s

fourteen

and

has tried to kill herself.

I cannot see it.

I cannot see the why.

Why?

Momma says,

loud in Liz’s face.

We stand in the living room

all of us,

with that bright

sun splashing

on the floor at

our feet,

waiting for the police

to carry my sister

away.

I didn’t shoot,

Lizzie says.

But Momma’s called the cops

anyway.

(It is my responsibility to take care of Liz.)

I won’t do this,

Momma says. I won’t do this.

I won’t lose

anyone

not even

one

more

time.

(And Liz’s

supposed to take care of

me.)

Liz,

my Lizzie,

she does not answer.

But she does look

at Momma.

She looks at her

so hard

so long

that Momma

finally turns away.

18.

I am old with living.

So much older than almost thirteen.

And things aren’t right.

Not at all.

Is Lizzie nuts

like Momma says?

(It runs in the family,

you know?

No, Momma, I

didn’t know.)

Is Momma?

Is it me who is crazy,