our sister

Brother, she says, write the poem 
I will whisper to you, but he is afraid the words will not come out right.  
Brother, she says, her voice rising from a pile of ashes, 
when you crossed the ocean and felt sick to your stomach, 
did you feel sick for me too?  
Brother, she says, among dead leaves, 
when you fell in love the first time and you felt the original happiness 
and everything in you was giddy, 
did you also feel happy for me?
Federman