my sister's room is a time machine.
I walk in and she has decorated her walls with the memory of our father
her desks covered in the confetti of his life
her jewelry all gifts from him
she wears three necklaces at once because he gave them all to her
her phone case has a picture of him and her
I walked in on her once sitting on the carpet
a picture, a box of ashes, and something silly her gave her all laying in front of her
in her hands was one of the necklaces, and her thumb vigorously rubbed it like a lamp
begging for a wish
a wish she had planned:
bring him back.
my sister's room is a time machine.
she harbors his spirit in her room
because it doesn't live anywhere else.