Family of origin and only Sister
speaks to me
she makes me hear her
tests me
tries me
imitates me
echoes me
lifts me
holds me
in my soul of memories
from when we are youthful
and
our mother’s blood
runs cold while running
down from the
walls in a room in our home…
and I,
at nine years of age,
am tasked with
cleansing the
blood from the walls and ceiling.
Rooms where our mother asks
the Great Spirit to take her home…
to peace and comfort
and warmth and caring
and
love and nurturing hope
as my brother Du and I
are forced
against the hallway
walls of detritus
while she lay on a
bloodsoaked gurney
within our aching reach
She is
rolled past us.
I shall never
forget
the comfort of
my sister’s caring ways
as she later forces me
to
breathe.
Just
breathe.
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