Sweet wine and summer nights

Sister- can you remember
the summer nights we shared,
when I would knock on your door
sometime after the sun had set.
Counting pennies, we would buy
a bottle of sweet wine
from the 24-hour store
on the corner of your block.

Walking hand in hand
dodging the arcs of streetlamps
I, with the bottle curled under my shirt
and you pulling your old pink floral comforter
sweeping the street behind us.

It was only a short climb over
that low brick wall, but I never
failed to scrape my knees along the way
and once over, we were inside
the gardens illicit after dark
quietly breaking laws.

We would spread your blanket under the oak tree
and wet our summer-calloused feet
on the new-settled dew
And then the heat and the town and our need to escape
and that sweet cheap bottle of wine
became our matter and we talked
until the buzzing in our heads echoed an alarm
and we knew it was time to go back
sometime before the sun rose.

And slowly we would walk to your house
silly laughter escaping our steps
til we stumbled through your door
never speaking against the pervasive early morning quiet.
Drinking cups of thick coffee to raise the morning
we once sat silent and listened to the dawning rain
that fell against your windows
like wrinkled poetry. And sister, I
can still remember the heat
of that coffee on my tongue
those summer mornings.