There is an elephant sitting on my windowsill
Trunk poised toward the rising sun
Its stance, ready for movement
yet frozen in place.
Pride emanating from the recycled paper that shapes it
Strength breathing in and out of its material lungs

How simple, how easy, how apathetic
Yet how intricate, how detailed, how steadfast

Its empty eyes have seen rain and snow
Storm and still
Its ears lacking the parts to hear the whispers and shouts
But ready anyways, waiting for the bits of noise to trickle through
The elephant on my windowsill
So peaceful and so calm
From a lifeless shell, it bursts with vitality.

I want to grow old
Surrounded by the yellowing pages of my favorite stories
Kept company by the histories of the epics
And the imaginations of the classics

I want to trade pieces of the newspaper
With an older version of a summer love
As we sit in matching, worn out chairs
With a sleeping lab at our feet

I want to write poems on the porch
Encased by nothing but wooden slats below and stars above
Penning down the thoughts
Inspired by the curves of the mountains

I want to grow old
Gazing out at the world
I've lived a life to see and experience
Reminding myself of the memories
Through the literature I've collected

Top of the mountain
legs a little weaker than at the bottom
but they burn with a deep understanding of the cracks,
the crevices,
the rocks
you had to climb to get here.

Dad said when you hit the top you could see the heavens
but there is no God here
save for the tranquility,
the peacefulness,
the absolute stillness
of an ancient and graceful piece of rising rock and land.

Built by the winds and a deep understanding of the globe,
well before a piece of omnipotent divinity could find it,
standing the test of time,
the test of faith,
this peak remains for your feet to climb.
To discover the greater resiliences of the world
unrestricted by humanity's prayers.

It is cold in this car
Your breath makes firework shaped gaps
on the ice encrusted on the inner windshield
We wait for the heat to kick in
I'm already buckled up, nested between strap and seat
You're not though
You instead wait until you've eased out the clutch
Hand leaving first gear
Gliding it into second
Only then does the seat belt go on
The buckle only clicking between gears
between stall or movement
between possibilities

The ceiling is not completely flat
and the walls crack where the earth shows signs of life
old paint is seldom seen
but hidden at the edges of cabinets
the doors creek
the oven swells
the windows let too much air in during winter
and too much sun in during summer

But its bones
the very being of this home
they are beautiful
they've seen life and death
they've seen flood and snow storm
the inner workings of a home filled with memories
no matter how cold or how hot
no matter how much they creak
these bones hold together a home
a home which i love
a home which stands the test of time

1 year
11 months
10 days

that which separates you from me
that which connects us to each other

oh little brother
how you've grown
we've run and screamed
and scraped our knees
shedding similar blood on the grass
which grows green with every new summer

i've protected you
and you've comforted me
when the dog died
when the parents fought
superheroes, not one greater than the other
invincible little boy and girl
facing the world with bright, hopeful eyes

it's come to a point where my cape of youth
must be shed
but don't lose yours just yet
there are greater things separating us now than just age

remember
do not let my fickle worries cause you haste
do not let my growing up cause you to,
not yet
live for me in youth
dawn your cape another day
and i'll pave a path for you to walk
when it's time

oh little brother,
don't grow up quite yet

with love,
your sister.