The chilly, frigid evenings roll in one after another as I gawk out of the window with droopy eyes.
Guffaws of pretentious men and women permeate in living rooms- chatting away, neglecting the presence of one.
Waking up to grating, irksome alarms with a vacant, poignant space beside me and a home ample of people but still undone.
Chirpy dinners on the dining table, seemingly invigorating my spirit but the chair next to mine diffuses lonely laments all around.
Trips to one and the same place devoid of the clicks and shutters of your camera and your smile outshining the early morning sun.
Here I am installing you in poems like a restless, peppy kid.
But do you still think of me? How I gazed at your smile and grinned?
You're a bird flying away, free and unfettered with lovely folks.
Happier than ever, channeling self-morale and growth.
A tiny screen reflects your face like you're the prettiest creature on the planet.
While I reminisce all night of fleeting as well as heartfelt moments of you and I, I wonder if you have them saved too in obscured cassettes?
How we squeezed each other's palms knowing we're falling to pieces softly like a house of cards?
How we looked into each other's eyes and said so many things words would otherwise pierce our souls like shards?
How we smiled and shared our secrets that others would disregard?
Hey soul sister,
Do you still think of me? How I engulfed you like a winter blanket when others would only discard?
Notes: This is about my sister.
YOU ARE READING
weaving wool with tender fingers
PoetryDear Reader, This is my first collection of poems that I wrote in quarantine as an imaginative thirteen year old, trying to figure out the different facets of life while being shut down and locked up in her home. She found catharsis and solace in po...
