dear sister


 


I cast my hands in the prisms of light

                      that draw shapes in the window

one summer bleeds into the next

                       and I am still in my old bedroom


                                                    I remember you, dear sister


I keep calling out to you

                      can't you hear me?

Papa always said I'd be alone

                        after he and Mama died

I forgot what the creases in your 

                        face look like, the way

your elbows fold into your

                        upper arms


                                        

                                                I am quick to forget you, dear sister


but not the way your nose

                        stands on your face like

a hill erect,

                        or the way your nails looked

when you pinched me:

                        blue polish bled into my skin

that you tore off


                                            I love you still, dear sister


I keep the paintings you've 

                         made me for my birthdays

locked somewhere in the drawer

                           I even found some of your diaries 

from when you were little,

                           the locks are still in place,

dust binds the spine of each book

                            but reading about Dedushka's death

reminds me of how much 

                           I cannot bear to lose you


                                            dear sister


the garden is still here

                            I keep up with the Mother's day plants

from last year

                            they're in the same part of the room

by the open window

                           where you used to dance when you were little

when you thought I wasn't

                           looking, but I was there

all along, freezing the memory

                            until the next time I would see your face



Comments

  1. Did you just post this one? This one is also a compelling and accessible narrative. It's pretty straightforward. The form reminds me of work by Jorie Graham, esp in her second book, Erosion. Like your other recent work, this poem makes moving use of details of the human body, is grounded in the emotional life of the speaker and her family, and registers the complex array of emotions that go along with growing up with and reconciling with one's family.

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    1. Hiii I love how you formatted this poem. It made my reading of it more fun. I like the straight forwardness too. It makes me wonder what the whole story is! Loved it

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