you smile
like a candy cane--
pearly whites curve
between rosy reds,
and when you kiss me
it's all peppermint and
love,
and our breath escapes
in spirals and weaves
through the snowflakes
toward the stars.
My dear little Rachel,
I wish I could properly prepare you for the future. The most I can do is speak as the big sister you will never and have never possessed. Right now you're probably lying in your bed reading , as you often do. Maybe you're seven or eight years old. That's about the age I mean for you to be when you read this.
I know you feel like life is hard and that the daily beatings from our mom make you hate her. I know about each and every one of the bruises you had, some that were made fresh every day. I can tell you that you have to take it.