It’s the kind of day that,
if my life was a movie,
it’d be raining.

Whenever there are funerals
in movies, the sky is gray
and there’s always a
soft downpour or a heavy drizzle
(your call, depending on your disposition in life).

But on the day my sister died,
it was the first week that felt like spring.
It was sunny with a light breeze,
somewhere in the seventy degree range
But it couldn’t have been real because my sister had just died.

When I walked outside after the nurses advised I “get some fresh air”,
there was a man smoking a cigarette.
How could he just be going about his routine, knowing my sister had just died.
I stood watching him when his cell phone rang. He answered and spoke of a grocery list and what time he’d be getting home tonight.

How could one just go to a grocery store and run errands on a day like this? He was just going to pick up a chicken for dinner and go home to his family? On the day my sister died?

Later, when I got in the car, the vehicles around us just kept driving like a normal day. Where could they possibly be going? Didn’t they realize that the seat next to me, where my sister usually sat, was empty? Didn’t they care?

Pulling in the driveway, I noticed the neighbors were mowing their lawn. Some kids were yelling and riding bicycles and I could hear an ice cream truck. How were all these people going about celebrating their lives when my sister had just lost hers?

And when I put on my black dress, I thought of my sister’s favorite color purple. I wore my purple high heeled shoes but she didn’t compliment them because she wasn’t there. And she’d never be here again. Yet people around me were still alive and acting as if nothing had happened.

Because nothing had happened to them. Today was just a regular day. I realized that today would begin and end with nothing unusual happening to them. They’d go to bed just like any other night and tomorrow would be another day. And as I watched the city roll by, with people just being ordinary people, I shed a tear, not only for the loss of my sister, but for the realization that today was just a Wednesday to everyone else, and not the day my sister died.

Raindrops fall from from cloudy orbs,
communication without words.

You rub my back but tap your feet,
love without a heartbeat.

We’re failing but trying our best,
sleep without any rest.

We lie and say it’ll all be fine,
hopefulness without a sign.

The sound of your laugh,
you’re good at math,
it’s when you sing,
and everything.

Your articulation,
and animation,
the way you hug me,
and act with chivalry.

Your goofy style,
I love your smile,
your coordination,
and enunciation.

Your feet do smell,
but you treat me well,
you always sleep late,
but I think we’re fate.

I’m putty in your hands;
you push down
so I become smaller.
And I’m changing shapes to fit
the pressure you place upon me.
You control me with your touch,
but you just crumple me up
and mash me back into the jar.
Inside the jar, I wait for you,
but the air circulates around,
and I become more rough,
So when you come back for me,
I’m less flexible, less dependent.
I don’t move the way you want ,
as easily as I used to be able to.
So I’m forced back into the jar,
because of your frustration,
where I wait around some more,
and harden until I’m solid,
never to be touched again.

It grips me like a cobra,

it refuses to let me go.

I’m screaming out, I’m sinking,

I’m already six feet below.

My eyes begin to twitch,

the panic fills my mind.

Trapped somewhere I can’t escape,

I’m seeking but I can’t find.

The walls close in around me,

I’m tangled in an invisible noose.

I struggle until I can’t think anymore,

someone, please, pull this rope loose.

My hands are shaking and I can’t breathe,

I pray for someone to help me out.

I’m stuck under a wave of fear,

And my brain is filled with doubt.

I can’t sleep; I’ve been awake for hours,

my pulse is pounding rapidly.

Is there an exit from this state of mind?

Because I need to find it desperately.

The muffled chirps of the insects
colliding with the explosions in the sky
the nervous pounding of my chest
and the steadiness of your breaths.

The taste of sugared sweetness
and the smell of a summer storm
spinning me in circles around your shoulders.
Humidity swelters draping comfort over us like a light cotton sheet.

We sing out of tune,
we hold hands,
we laugh,
we explore,
we embrace,
we kiss,
we cuddle,
we forget.
All of it.

And lose ourselves in the blizzards of changing seasons,
where the white cotton sheet turns out to be made of snow
that covers our eyes and makes us shiver.
The feeling of belonging slides to the ground, falling into a heap around our ankles.

Stumbling,
tripping,
falling
ever
so
slowly.

We could walk with grace and survive if we’d only hold hands.

But the cold is far too bitter to make us rational.

Can’t dress himself,
won’t get his license.
Can’t brush his teeth,
won’t go to college.
Can’t communicate,
won’t get married.
Can’t live on his own,
won’t have a career.
Can’t be himself,
won’t be happy.
Can’t live freely,
won’t be cured.
Can’t be hopeful,
won’t give up hope.