My cousin cooked fried bologney and coleslaw for me.

I was five.

My Mother had left food ready for us to eat,

But my cousin, eight years my senior,

Who’d been left to babysit me,

Decided to cook something.

I watched her, all of thirteen,

Lighting the stove burner,

And taking a sharp knife

Out of the silverware drawer,

And using it deftly to cut up the meat

And the cabbage.

She had brought a big bag of dresses for me

That didn’t fit her anymore.

I tried on every one of them

Right there in the kitchen,

While she told me a lot of important things

That I was too young to remember. 

I’m too old to remember them now,

But I will never forget, how

After our supper,

She pulled a big stack of books

Down off of a shelf

And read me stories, 

About witches and elves, 

And houses made of candy.

She taught me to read 

Before I ever went to school.

And I don’t know if she ever got paid

Any wages for seeing me through

The dark nights when my parents

Had better things to do

Than stay home,

But I certainly hope

Lovely cousins like her 

Receive a double, or triple reward 

For being bright lights

In a little child’s world, like mine was.

-jenn