You, my sister,
are the one friend
who has known me
all my life
and
I've known you most of yours
less
three years before I came to be
and
a few for which
I have no memory

I wish
I could recall

when I was new
did you lift me?
or stroke
my forehead?
did you sing
to me?

did you gaze
at tiny feet
and
hands
in wonder
and
amazement?

were we pals
even then?
even before my eyes
could focus
on your face
to see you
to know you?

did our spirits
know each other
and
bond in some mysterious way?
planning even then
their escapades
of
running
bare-chested, barefooted
in blazing summer sun
circling our tree
so "far" from home?
our adventures

did they see
the time ahead
when the fog would come
and
confuse?
when we'd each
be alone to struggle
with who we are?

did they know
we'd find our way
back again
never completely losing sight
of our special bond?
a bond temporarily
blurred by life
by grown up sorrows
deaths
separations

grim details
of life

like a broken branch
on a tree that hangs
by not more
than a thread
hangs on through
all the storms
clinging with all
its energy

finally
growing anew
connecting fully

better
than before

I don’t know that I trust myself
To keep my brains like a raw egg
When the time comes (when I’m supposed to know what to do)
And not to crack my skull,
See my brains drip into the bowl,
Mix them up for a broken yolk,
And then pour them into the pan
So they can scram(ble.)

Sometimes I wonder
If I’ll have to salt them
or add any pepper
or just dig in.

Sometimes I hunger
To know everything
Sometimes I feel so engorged
I’d rather know nothing.

The worst part is not knowing
That the worst part is knowing.

I want to hate my own guts
But that’s--that's utterly nuts,
For it’s never the guts
Should be disdained—
It’s the yolk in my egg, or
The stuff in my brains in my head.

Sometimes I wake up
And I know tomorrow's secrets
It's scary, knowing what comes next
Like reading the last page of a book
Then reading the rest

Have you ever known tomorrow's secrets?
Have you ever had to hide because you can't handle knowing?
And being unable to change it?

But who will ever really know
Who knows has known and will know?
God.

These glimpses are gifts
Treasures
Precious little things
Not to be taken lightly

Still, it's scary, knowing tomorrow's secrets
Unable to change them
But knowing them all the same.