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
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.
ReplyDeleteHiii 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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