Memories of my sister
Other times and other people, gone now but once real;
More than forty years since she was here; no almost fifty.
An older sister, always around, bigger than me, stronger, better at
everything;

She's an artist, she gets upset easily;
likes things untouched - her toys left alone, her room precise, her
bed spotless
She gets her hair cut and cries - it is the end of her life but she doesn¹t know it;
the last great event before she is no more

It¹s late November and walking along the empty streets, I kick the leaves,
feeling sad, alone.
Only a few more days filled with crying and upset and the struggles of being
seventeen,  then the quiet
Newspaper clippings, dead flowers, forgotten pictures all that’s left as a record of
seventeen years.

I am not a home dweller,
Nor have I ever been.
I am just a wanderer,
Ready to begin.

I am not a question dodger,
But simply on a quest.
I belong to the desert now,
The first answer to the rest.

In the dreams of my mind,
I am standing on the ridge.
Striding along the bare winding trail,
A view both ways.

I am a ridge walker,
Coming home to walk.

Life is a runaway train,
Running on rails of solid steel,
Invisible as tomorrow and impossible to steer.

But freedom lies in runaway trains,
With no rails, and no fixed route,
No future, no past.
It takes us into the wild of our lives.

Dense woods
Amidst broad meadows
Wilderness fights
Where the river runs red

People.
Christmas.
Warm.
Alone.
Noise.
Quiet.
Families.
Lights.
P­eace.
New world.

I am a hollow vessel in the world
floating in space, alone,
in a universe without humans
There is no fear, merely enduring.

Sixty eight years of floating
today I feel something
loosening around my heart
just a small ache there

In the world of no one but me
I am locked out of anyone
I am without the spirits of the past
I am alone

Today is a first step towards
the place where the people are.