Day 946

Where are you, older sister
who used to braid
my long hair?  Every morning,
your strong hands
on my head, patting it tenderly
when you were done.  Where
are you, who studied
late into the night
and woke early, singing
as you walked
through the corridors
of our house?  Where
does a voice go? Laughter?
Footsteps?  How
could those rooms
not be anywhere
anymore?  Like you,
they pulsed with life:
our running, our shouts
to each other to join
some game.  Sometimes
our tears.  How,
my sister, sister who came
into this world
before me, who tasted it,
learned it, told me
about it — how,
when every cell I am
is filled with you — how
can you not be here?