My sister Eva sings a song about the sun.
“Buenos dias a la dia!”
She stands at the counter to my left, placing slices of bacon side by side on a large sheet pan.
“Buenos dias al amor!”
Like me, she wears a white cotton shirt and black and white checkered pants.
Her hair is black and curly, pulled back in a ponytail and covered in a hairnet.
“Buenos dias a la vida!”
I met her husband, my brother-in-law, a few weeks ago.
“That’s your hermana verdura?” he asked Eva when I left. “She’s very white.”
“Buenos dias Senor Sol!”
She is closer to short.
I am closer to tall.
She has melons,
I have oranges.
She is Mexican,
I am a gringa huera.
When we tell people we are sisters, we side hug, our heads together, and say,
“Don’t you see the resemblance?”
“Blah blah blah cantando, ser mejor! Blah blah blah cantando, ser mejor!”
Once our boss laughed at our sister act and said,
“You two are ridiculous.”
My heart hurt a little to think that he thought we were joking.
Even though we are.
We are sisters. I feel it deep in my bones.
“Sing with me, sister!” Eva says while putting pastry paper on top of a full pan of bacon and starting to fill another pan.
But I don’t really know the words to the sol song,
So we sing one she wrote just for me.
You really need to meet her.
written circa February, 2009