On that evening, dark and cloudy,
we didn't stop or head inside,
despite the storm that was brewing above us.
No. We continued to run and play.
We were invincible.
Well, we thought we were at least.
"Hey! I dare you to jump the creek!" one of the boys taunted,
knowing I couldn't back down from a dare.
I smirked in his direction
and, without a word, ran
and jumped over the muddy water easily.
After my successful leap,
the rest of the kids followed,
knowing it was a safe bet.
And everyone made it,
except for my baby sister,
who slipped at the edge.
We reached out for her hand,
but she'd fallen and the rushing water
had taken her away already.
The water had gotten too high,
she had lost footing on the side,
lost her grip on the edge of ground.
We screamed and we cried
until the grown-ups came to our aid,
but it was too late.
She was nothing but a victim,
lost to the storm,
nowhere to be found.
Now twenty years later,
it's the past.
We live our lives, haunted,
but with jobs and families to feed.
Alas, life goes on.
The sun goes down and comes back up,
and she's just a distant memory.
But every so often,
her image enters my mind
and I remember all
the little jokes and puns
and her high pitched giggle
at our amusement or eye rolls,
depending on the day.
I remember her slyly tossing her broccoli
under the table for our dog.
I remember her near permanent smile
and her jovial, kind spirit,
and her stubbornly naive childlike wonder.
I remember all the fights we had
over what was hers and what was mine,
who started it first and who was retaliating,
who Mom and Dad loved more and why.
I remember all the talks we had late at night
in our small shared bedroom
about how many kids we would have
and what we would name them
and how we would live together
and talk all night every night
for all the nights there were.
And I remember helping her up
when she fell off her first two wheel bike
and hugging and convincing her to try again
and promising not to let go this time.
I remember her and I miss her even when I don't
and it is those memories
along with so many more memories
that keep her alive in my heart.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
