Us kids imagined the West Wind had taken her.
She lived among the barely-mentioned,
a whisper among the adults on the walk home from church
or on their breath in the parlour after whiskey and beer.
Our elder brother held on to a memory of her, possibly false:
wasn’t her laugh the lightest ever? Maybe.
One day we’d demand to know more about our Mum’s sister.
Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us