The staircase
flew by at a rapid pace,
Creaking with the weathered imprints of those I loved.
Only my mama knew I shouldn't have been running for our last greeting-
But it was too late.
She had seen what I had not.
The confusion in her father's eyes,
That innocent stare of a mind slowly going.
I reached the top of the
stairs with intensity,
My mouth open,
Only one front tooth,
Cheeks upward,
So happy,
So happy,
She was still sleeping.
For never had I seen her sleep,
Only the two beds neatly aligned, unwavering.
Her skin was chalky white,
But I was still smiling.
The loss of color wasn't it-
It was the coldness of her skin.
The touch, the feel of death.
On occasion in darkness,
I call to her.
Only in these times of weakness am I fragile enough to think she can
actually hear.
There are only fragmented
memories left,
Below the surface occasionally floating up,
Little pieces of shrapnel hitting me at the strangest of times.
The resonation of seeing things no child should ever see.
I remember my uncle coming
in the room and holding me,
Everything freezing, and suddenly making sense.
That life was no longer a fairy-tale,
That the lesson to be learned in the end couldn't bring someone back.
I think about the faces,
because that's all I could see.
The smells,
The dank aroma of loss.
They took her body away at
dusk.
Neighbors peeked through darkened rooms.
I was six,
My pants were sopping.
Cars came and went.
Days turned into weeks,
Months,
Years.
