Dust

II

Part II

HER

Olive.

My sister’s skin was olive.

When they found her,

it was gray,

stained of red.

She had eyes of burned marigolds,

of honey in a clear jar

set before the sun.

The last time I saw her,

just before they draped her in white,

they were brown.

Just brown.  

I lay in bed and

listen to my breathing,

to feel I’m alive and

not in the ground

with her.

It doesn’t work.

Air packs tight around me like dirt, and

while the sun streams through the windows,

there’s only darkness in my mind.

I close my eyes to match it,

to match her.

Memories linger there,

dreams of a phantom between the trees,

of a man looking at me,

only

it isn’t me.

It’s Ava.

My Ava.

He watches her,

eyes black like the shadows behind him,

skin the pallor of a man afraid of light.

She reaches for him,

but blinks and

he’s gone.

A minute later, so is she.

And I wake up,

alone.

They tell me it's grief,

that time will take the nightmares away.

Funny,

Ava had the same dreams for weeks

before she died.

They weren’t taken away.

She was,

and the dreams remain.

And me,

alone.

I think maybe we’re still tethered,

the way only twins can be.  

Wherever she is, I am.

Wherever I am, she is.

And so

I struggle.

Struggle to open my eyes.

Struggle to stand.

to dress,

to walk down the hall and

open my roommate's door.

“I changed my mind.

What time’s the party?”

His eyes open wide,

very green,

very alive.

“You sure, Olivia?”

I nod.

“Yeah, I think it’s time,” I say,

and struggle to smile.

Because we’re tethered, Ava,

we're tethered,

and I may have died with you,

 But you will live through me.