Big Sister

She doesn’t remember.

She sees my solid form
instead of my blurred edges.

Those edges wherein
I am passing into darkness,
slowed by alcohol and desperation,
spilling wine as I fall asleep,
forgetting my promise to stay conscious.
Those edges wherein
I cannot, for the life of me,
figure out what happened
to that fucking shower curtain
that’s two feet shorter
since the night before.
Those blurred quiet edges,
interrupted by the crunching with chex mix
and the slurp of drunken soba noodles
and the clink of checking empty bottles.
Those fringe years
when my Monopoly money
bought us both –
bought her Time
and bought me Life.

But all I can think is,
Who could possibly forget?



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3 responses to “Big Sister

  1. Oh, I remember.
    But it’s not every day you catch
    the sight of a phoenix
    at just the right moment.

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