Light as a Feather
Feather and her mama came and lived with us when I was three, my mama died when I was two, and I can't really remember what she was like, but I have her picture. In the picture she's smiling real big and so am I, daddy's not in the picture, but maybe he took it. We have on our Sunday dresses and she looks like me, but bigger. She has wiry hair peeking from her sunhat and white teeth with a little gap in the middle, just like me. That's why I cry at night, her not being here is like me not being here, in a way. I believe Feather's mama would like it if I weren't here and Feather, too. I don't know why, we play real quiet together and do our lessons like we 'sposed to. I don't know where Feather's daddy is, I don't believe that he is dead like my mother. I heard he was what they call a playboy, but I don't know what that is. I do know that Feather's mama is too pretty to be so mean and onery all the time. If I was that pretty, I'd be happy everyday. Well, I pretty much am happy everyday and my Grandma she call me pretty all the time, but that's not why I'm happy. I'm happy because I got Feather and she got me.