My Sister
This poem may not be used anywhere else. It’s highly personal, since it concerns the death of my half sister.
I wish I could have said sorry,
for so many things,
for not being the brother,
you wanted me to be.
But while you lay dying,
a stranger told me of your plight,
and watched as I slowly,
began to cry.
I rushed to sit beside you,
to be there with you,
a stranger came and told me,
there’s no way you can.
I tried every day,
to be there for you,
a stranger on the phone,
told me to stay away.
When you finally died,
I didn’t even know,
a stranger told me,
you’d passed away.
When they buried you,
in the cold ground,
I read the strangers words,
in cold, wet, print.
Now I know nothing,
of where you lay,
a stranger knows,
far more than me.
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