Girl in Field, 2004. Silver Gelatin Print.
My little sister stands in a field because I, her older sister, tells her to. She does not argue nor delay, and puts a cap upon her head as I direct it—tilted slightly and to the left. Her gaze is unflinching, unaware of others’ words to bring her down and looking like a soldier, too young to fight but ready in her heart to hold a knife.
The field is wide, the grasses dry from winter’s drought, her boots very small but no less able for trampling weeds and filling in the holes left behind by moles and mice. Her pale legs are showing despite the cold, normal in this humid place, and a pale hand covers her face because I, older sister, wished to make the blush of youth a story though she, little sister, never blushes, youngest of four and ever seeking stillness in the wild.
The field is wide, the grasses dry from winter’s drought, her boots very small but no less able for trampling weeds and filling in the holes left behind by moles and mice. Her pale legs are showing despite the cold, normal in this humid place, and a pale hand covers her face because I, older sister, wished to make the blush of youth a story though she, little sister, never blushes, youngest of four and ever seeking stillness in the wild.
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