Poetry

Nothing is Forever

She left us in the cold.

We sat with a blanket of betrayal

wrapped around us.

“Nothing

is forever,” I repeated to myself.

We waited.

Then a glimmer of hope

walked to the door.

Our eyes met,

but blank stares swallowed

the space between us.

She opened the door,

took one more step,

and left only her dog behind

to suffer in the cold with us.

Our limbs grew colder

until the tiniest of hills appeared.

We waited.

“This is ridiculous”

“It’s not happening”

These thoughts surrounded me

until my eyes felt like river banks,

trying to contain the flooding river

that lay before them.

Then she closed the door

on our friendship.

I remember the entire cities

made only of boxes.

Madison and I bickered

over the size of our brittle houses.

And much to my dismay,

the house of my dreams was sold

to my sister.

Between the stickers we mounted,

and the tape we overused,

we always had fun creating our second home.

The frequent staple pierced my knees,

shooting a chill through my body.

I tried staying strong in front of my older sister,

in fear of looking weak in her eyes.

I stumbled to my box and let a single tear hit the cardboard,

then wiped it away shamefully

and crawled out.

The basement was the home to our imagination,

where anything was possible.

Our couches transformed into the White House,

and the boxes molded into buildings.

The city we admired converted into our hide-out.

It was an escape from the arguing.

Our boxes were our shelters from divorce.

Where I’m From

I am from the Irish soda bread my grandmother makes,

from the smell of coffee when I woke up.

I’m from the winter season, covering my feet,

with a cold, white blanket.

From the trees my sister and I used to climb,

although I was too afraid to go all the way up.

I’m from the bumpy path that took us to school

every morning.

The dark, murky lake water we swam in every summer,

not realizing how gross it was.

I’m from boxes that we play in,

and the dress-up clothes we wore.

I’m from the dirty cleats,

and faux cherry flavored cough drops when we were sick.

From the times I would secretly sip coffee

from my mom’s mug,

and staying up late to watch football games.

I’m from the long business trips my dad took

and the little German eggs.

I am from all these things,

all these experiences,

and all these memories.

Sisters

I remember cold Michigan nights

when we'd wrap ourselves in blankets,

the wood crackling faintly in the fireplace.

One night,

she walked like a sloth,

trying to move as quietly

down the hall all she could.

Then she came into my room.

We tiptoed to the balcony,

peeked down on the movie

my parents were watching,

and melted to the floor.

We never talked

for fear someone would hear us.

When I was about asleep,

she brought me to my room

and moved into her own.

In the morning,

we knew our secret would be safe forever.

Sisterhood was not a term that we used lightly.

We believed it with an arguing passion.

She held on to me when I was young,

and now I hold on to her,

squeezing out moments to keep us close

before college becomes a wedge between us.