Sep 2020
Her curls were blond
Softer than the world
She had entered
The last time she came home
The sutures were pronounced in
reds and blues
She would sit and stare
I would try to make her stuffed animals
Bring her back to life
Her curls were blond
Softer than the world
She left
Softer than the world
She had entered
The last time she came home
The sutures were pronounced in
reds and blues
She would sit and stare
I would try to make her stuffed animals
Bring her back to life
Her curls were blond
Softer than the world
She left
When I was five years old my little sister died of brain cancer. These four poems, “Curls” “My Little Sister “ “Hail Mary” and “Altars” revisit that time through an adult’s words. Thanks for reading....
