As a 6 year old I knew she was beautiful,
she always smelled of perfume,
fingernails painted coral,
played tennis in the mornings,
bridge in the afternoons,
high heels and dresses over her elegantly thin frame.

As a 9 year old my father sat us down,
said she would be more tired,
but she looked the same to us,
so we said okay and went to ride bikes,
throw rocks in the creek behind the house.

As a 13 year old I ignored her,
smoking cigarettes out my bedroom window,
sneaking out of the house to drink *****,
and get ****** with older boys.
She didn’t play tennis or bridge anymore.

As a 15 year old I started to notice.
I gave her shots in her arms,
I made my sisters lunches,
went to their soccer games,
Sat with her in the doctors office.
She didn’t get manicures anymore.

As an 18 year old I left home for college,
Trying to find out who I was.
I didn’t like to think about what was going on at home.
When I came home it was worse.
I bought her ***,
The first time we sat on the end of her bed
Finished a joint and sat with
two spoons and a gallon of vanilla ice cream.

That was 10 years ago.
I am a grown now.

She doesn’t socialize,
doesn’t leave the house,
She lays and dreams of what her life used to be,
What it could have been…

We still smoke *** on her bed
With two spoons and vanilla ice cream

I lay next to her and watch her sleep.
Her face often looks strained…
Like she’s in pain even in her dreams.
When she starts to sweat or cry
I place my hand on her arm
Until she’s wakes or calms.

Then I sit in silence
wondering what it will be like
10 years from now.