My sister died long before I was born;
obviously, we never got the chance
to meet or play together as children;
holding her ghost as I sit in the barn,
empty-handed, lost in contemplation,
remembering a face I could not know.
Forgetfulness gives me a sense of time,
a sense of what is missing within change;
trapped within my body, I can't return
home to a sense of love outside her tomb;
empty-headed, I sense the implosion
rumored to cause her death, the broken bough.
So long ago, my sister was alive,
ignorant of her imminent demise,
sheltered from the prophecy of her death;
this transformation, I cannot abide,
empty-hearted, I rest in our demesne
realizing it's haunted by her wraith.
---
Dedicated to Amina Cain
@aminamemory
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