Disappearing

Sisters, you once told me,

stay together for ever, hearts

enfolded into little protective shells.

You rolled out cookie dough and

cut the slab, snowmen and flowers and

sugary snails.

I was just a little girl, fascinated

by the intricate swirls in which

you did your hair, burning with questions

that polarized answers and pulled them

from your very innards.

You were so old in spirit

your back curved under the weight of your

thoughts, and the luster of your hair

could protect you from bullets, could

save me from anything.

You were bruised

black and blue, and your heart burned with all the lies:

I slipped on ice and bruised my cheek, I walked

into a door and blackened my eye.

Sisters stick together, you whispered

when my tears coagulated like fat

little monsters, racing down my cheeks, the first

time I'd ever been hit, a slight pinch on my forearm

that paled next to your blue face.

It had been such a long time that

it took me weeks to remember these

mementos I'd tucked deep into my gut.

The years were passed by under the

hollow of your blood, searching

for hallucinations that never did come.

I lost you the way some people fall in love,

until all at once you returned like

a blue-winged butterfly to settle

in the damp earth and absorb my tears.

Sisters are forever, the wind whispers.

I press my hand against your cheek.

I love you, you know. I have never said.

The words free you from yourself

and even as I kiss you goodbye,

your essence flutters away, leaving

your black and blue drugged body

behind.

written 12/9/2014