I hope on your last day
you heard your favorite song
thought of something that brought you joy
remembered a time you laughed so hard
you cried
I hope you knew how much my father cared for you
(it was very, very much)
And I thank you for the friendship you provided him.

I hid behind long locks of dark hair back then.
And sang of places I would not visit for another three to five years.
Some places had real names but were fiction in my brain.
I gave myself an alias among others' real names.
Why was I so secretive?
"You are young," they'd tell me.
I didn't want to hear that.
The room was a relief from the Ohio cold in mid-January,
that was always when the air was the most brutal.
The community we built was short-lived but lovely
it was where I tucked myself away for the winter
before climbing out on my two hands
and not ever thinking to look back.

i have memories of you and i
i was still young, and you younger
you were taller in height with long legs
i had to look upward to look you in the eye
and still, i called you my little sister
we'd sit on your porch
you'd read me poems by leonard cohen, i think
i'd pull at the grass with my hands while i listened
and i'd show you music i wrote under a pseudonym
i miss you often, little sister
i hope you still read leonard cohen
and think of me

i try to keep my balance
my leg muscles are tensed to assist
and i sit in the center of the ship
the livid waves pulled by the moon rock me
it is difficult to sit upright without falling over
afraid to stand, i hope the movement ends soon
the ship is still at the center of the sea
and i still at the center of the ship
it is agonizing not knowing when the waves will end
but i will wait until the sea is calm again

what silly little girls we were
we put holes in our faces
and prisms in our hair strands
we followed boys with guitars on rocks near the river
we had guitars, too, and we knew we were good
we wanted to show them we were good
you could sing better than me
but i was the writer
that's why we were moon sisters
we were bound to find each other sooner or later
you had lively feet and i was the shy one
my eyes comfortably focused on the ground
but you'd tilt my chin upward
and i'd finally see all the beauty i'd been missing
i remember it well, when you took my hand
and whisked me away to the fantasy land of imsoniacs
they sipped coffee all night long in that oyster shell of a cave
you kept me awake till five am
then i'd tuck away into my warm bed to finally greet dreams
what silly little girls we were

in a woven wooden walking distance
tucked between the world i originally dipped my toes in
i am welcomed back by the dancers that tower over the earth
(we call them mountains, sometimes)
i am five years aged since that tiny human first arrived here
they haven't forgotten me, though
it's as if i never roamed too far away
here i am

It is February again.
It was February years ago that I hid.
I hid and I climbed out again in the spring.
We wrote songs. We shared songs.
You weren't a ghost then
and I didn't know at the time you would become one.
I tied my hair back to tune my guitar
and you said you liked how my neck looked exposed.
You are a ghost now, and it is February again.
But thank you for the songs I wrote when it was February then.
They are still favorites of mine.