Pulling a yellow flower from the vase,

the young woman at the end of the table

leans back, listening,

as the other holds up a notebook

and reads aloud; clearly the two are sisters,

though one has lighter hair, and their mouths

differ. The one with thinner lips,

twirling the flower, 

does not look up. She remembers

the afternoon they heard the wood thrush hidden

in the restless greens, and both began reeling

and arching like the birches, giddy—until she found

her sister only standing, watching her.