Two Sisters

My mother takes pills to not care
but that's better than flying lamps.
My father lives four states
and twelve lives away. Two children. Three cats.
My sister is impulsive and angry.
My sister is infuriating and I have to try
try to love her.
The first one I raised because of
the flying lamps.
The second one I resent, envy, loathe -
she'll never have to dodge them.
she'll never stand at attention all night.
    nose in the corner
    ankles aching
    sleep begging, begging
she'll never sit at a different table.
    at the "family dinner"
she'll never hide with the towels.
    want to be one because
    no one hates a towel
She won't even know.
The third sister wants to be a towel.
    she dodges lamps.
    she has perfect posture.
    she counts her food as she chews
    she knows,
          and I never had to tell her.
My sister scares me because
    she knows what I don't say.
    she knows what I don't say.
    she wants what we can't say.
    she wants what she can't have.

My family doesn't know that I've thrown in the towel.