My sister- a ghost
Not dead, but surely not alive
Nothing
Except
stacks
of
white
bones
Poking, Prodding, Painful
I searched:
Wrists, arms, the curve of her neck
My eyes found:
Negative space
Where is her body?
This moment- this question: a loaded gun
One wrong move
A shot in my foot
A bullet to her head
No wonder neither of us are a full person
yet
The others are already ready
Dressed in black
Ready for the funeral
For the ghost to lack
But where do we mourn what's missing?
In me
My mind, my soul
Her corpse's tomb
Desperate to preserve
Straining to protect
The dirt, the world pressing upon us
But what else could I do?
All living things need a body
Obligation shoveled dirt in our grave
Choking me- unable to reach her
Unwanted, early, forced
Our purgatory- our temporary death
Then comes the day she regains her form.
Poking, Prodding, Painful the process
As she is torn
Between comfort and reality
Between lies and truth
Restarting a heart hurts I tell you
A thunderous shock
forcing an
unwilling
pulse
to
scream
forcing
blood
to churn
Breath
to come in
and out
Dante guides her
Out
Out
Out
My work is done, but the office I cannot leave
The impression in the satin- an outline
I fear
The tomb my prison
The tomb that must heal
