My Sister's ridiculous voice

My sister had a ridiculous voice ...
a confession I hate to make ...
She wanted to sing in the annual convention..
an embarrassing task, I wished she didn't take ...

Despite my sincerest objection ...
she talked out her way to the stage ...
I remember  figuring out an escape route ..
ohh!!! couldn't she wait till she would graduate ..

An elder brother was I ,
grimly aware of  the possible taunts ..
I solemnly led her to the platform ...
her rivals best in their abilities to flaunt ..

My heart starts to flounder ..
her humiliation almost certain
I resolve  to lend her a comforting shoulder ..
hope to ease her unwanted burden..

and then she starts singing ..
her voice no longer ridiculous ..
she searches past the last row ...
her eyes locked on me in intent ..

She sings of her brother ...
the best thing in her life ...
Off all the nights he looked after her ..
how he raised her despite the strife ...

It's 20 years past that night ..
I sing the same song by her grave ...

And as she goes down underneath
I start losing my controlled poise
My heart yearning just once more..
to hear my sister's ridiculous voice.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

An ode to a sibling .. Nuff Said ...



If you lived like me,
you'd be like me,
and if you'd be like me,
you'd die like me,
and if you'd die like me,
then you'd be like me,
and then there would be two more evils.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

To my twin.

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Our Call

To My Sister~

The small pecking of each drop as it falls from the heavens and onto
my not-so-clean bedroom window, the window my mother is always telling
me needs a good washing, is almost obnoxious, but I can't pull myself away
because there is something incredibly comforting in the repetition of the tack, tack, tack.

I can hear you on the other line, pouring out the feelings I had
once been so intrigued by, knowing I should cherish this moment
before it drowns into what used to be, because soon your tired voice
will leave me hanging on its last words, left to fill in the blanks
with whatever I would hope for you to say, but can't.

You're telling tales of camping on Wall Street with the people you
say know you, are you, feel how you feel. I can't imagine what you
mean but the rain is falling heavier now and its balancing my sinking
heart, adding a smile to my voice that wasn't intended to be there. But
I think your pleased and its like a vocal hug when you laugh through the rain.

I can see you now, outside my window in the rain.
Your dancing with a cheap black phone from the apartment
you like more than our house, a place you used to call home.
The rain speckles your freckled face and I puzzle over how your signature
cigarette is still burning through the wet that appears to surround you.

His voice is heard in the distance, almost as if from a film playing in the background
but I know better than to think that as you call back to him and I
call back to the rain thats still there, waiting for me, showering the window
just as it had been all day. You have that tone of voice when you speak again and
I my mind races to reel you in, trap you, anything to make you stay.
Yet I can only muster the will to mumble something incoherent about
loneliness, and you don't hear.

I'm still watching the rain watching you and now him watching you,
But now he's walking away, growing dimmer with every step until
you're alone,and I'm alone, but we're together. You smile widely but
it looks all too forced and the rain is quickening and thickening, but
you simply stand and talk. Its only then that I am aware of our conversation.

My hand is out the window now and your gracing me with sweet goodbyes
but not a mention of the next call. So I ask. I crave to know your next
visit but you're dismissive and ignore me as if focused on my rain because
you don't know when the next day you'll be sober enough to call home
will come, the next time you're seeing things straight.

My eye is caught in the window again with the rain and your fake face,
and the longer I watch you the more faded you become until I'm
squinting out my dirty window, desperately rubbing my sleeve along the
glass, wishing I had cleaned it when my mother had scolded me days before.

I try to reason with your ever thickening head but you've had enough and sooner than
I ever wanted to admit the world is void of your voice, not
knowing when it'll be heard again, and the street is only
full of the rain, and I am only left with the soft
drone of the dial tone and the small pecking
of each drop as my cell phone falls from
my hand. I know I should pick it
up, but I can't pull myself away
because there is something
incredibly comforting in
the repetition of the
tack, tack, tack.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Not yet edited~

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Family Vacations

To My Sister~

The sand, as if on fire, glows and heats
our pruned feet. You ask me lazily to bury
your toes in its warmth as you flop onto
your perfectly tanned stomach, the green blanket
billowing up slightly at the edges and just barely
catching the day's
beautiful breeze as it blows by,
sifting sand and
gusting past the gulls begging
for scraps of anything to be spared,
food, water, or attention.

I nestle my knees into dips in the sand and began
scooping and molding the fine grains to your glittering
feet still moist with drops of salty brine and small flecks
of deep green kelp and bubbles from, our favourite, sea grapes.
When I finish and admire my handy work
until it is out of fashion and I have confidence that the
steady rise and fall of your slightly pinked back means
you've drifted off, I place myself beside you and watch
that beautiful breeze play with each of your strawberry
locks and your blond lashes twitch ever so lightly and
just barely graze your heavily freckled skin.

My eye is caught by that marble covered notebook.
The place I know you keep all your secrets.
I can only imagine what emotion its pages must hold, what
chaos you keep pent up within the college ruled lines and crinkled paper.
And I don't know why but I'm reaching out, fingers gliding, just barely
gliding, over the worn exterior.
And I don't know why but I'm sitting up right, clutching your secrets
like they're the only things left.
And I don't know why but I'm flipping through your feelings until
my eyes are drawn to a name thats nothing but my own.
And I'm reading.

There's a sudden shift in the world now as a lonely cloud in
the once pristine blue sky is shifting in front of the brilliant
sun and that beautiful breeze feels more chilled than it did before.

It's upsetting the gulls by my feet and they're crying out for me to help
them but I'm to absorbed in your secrets to care.
But maybe its not themselves they wanted me to help,

because theres a strong tug on the front of your secrets and they're
ripped from my shaking hands by their rightful owner.
Your hand meets my burnt cheek and now its stinging even more
but not as much as my spirit is when I hear you scream the awful things
you think of me, the things that I should be used to hearing by now.
The cloud that had been blocking the sun is gone as swiftly as it came
as you step away from me and allow the streaming sunlight to bathe me again,
but not before I'm knocked roughly off balance and fall, the green blanket
billowing up slightly at the edges and just barely catching the day's
beautiful breeze as it blows by,
sifting sand and
gusting past the gulls begging
for scraps of anything to be spared,
food, water, or attention.

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