Sunday, May 14, 2006

for Misha

stubbornness is the trait i think
we share most in common.
more than mom’s big watery eyes or dad’s pretty smile,
more than their passion (not so far under the surface),
or even their Flare for the dramatic (!).

i am indignantly sad
as i was never allowed before
(that was mom’s job).
[for me: to pretend it didn’t hurt (to see her cry. to feel so helpless) until
maybe i might believe it.
my: Greatest Performance Yet]

i didn’t tell people about you when we were kids,
probably because it was
Easier [well, we never really lived together, so it was Almost Like]
probably because they never
Knew What to Say and
Didn’t Understand.
maybe because it was
Happier and
because then i could half-way believe it too. [Happy.]
Less Complicated (not really).
[did it reflect on Me? did it somehow make Me
Not Good?]

so today i will write you a poem.
the words will be there.
i will. write. you. a poem. and
the words will. be there.
we can laugh about it,
and i can not Give A Shit, just like you never did,
and they can not Understand,
but it won’t matter, just like it never really did.

today i will write you a poem that i can shout to Whoever Cares:
I had a sister. Her name was Misha. A year ago today she died.
I Had A Sister. Her Name Was Misha. A Year Ago Today She Died.

that stubbornness, to hold out Just Because
you can, even though you know it would be Better to let go.
and just when that last audience member Finally folds their program and exits, you


it wasn’t that bad, though, was it?
that Quiet that’s much fuller because of the incessant Noise that came before.

i held your hand, and stroked your face,
your smooth soft ivory skin.
in the Stillness i was there
and drank you in with my eyes.
the mischief in you--
after all the Noise (lightning that racked your insides for thirty-some years),
your lips held the Wink of a smile.

I had a Sister. Her name was Misha. A year ago Today she died.

(soundtrack: Ancestors, by Bjork)
(photo: Transparent)

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