Memory Like Fog

I had your old party dress. Pink and girly

frilled, belled above my scabby knees.

Mama put a bow in my hair, combed me

to a satin lie. I put my bike away. I left

my skates by the cellar door. May 28th,

was it Memorial Day? You had hips

 

before me, and big girls walk proud

in the sunshine, in the parade. You

were a white pleated skirt, lipstick

and curls. "It's your day!" Mama says,

so I sit on the curb, untie my ribbon,

duck in the shade, stiffer than starch

 

with envy. You get everything first:

Pearls, boys' kisses, the car, the trip

to California, and months roll by

punctuated with your letters, perfect

penmanship, always better than mine.

 

When did I see you? Was it September?

After your birthday? You teach me to drive,

criticize my every move, but it's good

because big girls are proud in the sunshine.

Then December breaks into a million pieces

 

and we fall into a winter that lasts 

eight years before I cry. Ten, then twenty.

Thirty and more, and I can't stop crying.

You had another new dress, apple green

velvet with one purple star on the chest.

It will never go with Mama's pearls, never,

 

and I don't even want them. I want you

not to be always ahead of me. Why? Why

am I consumed with jealousy simply

at not being first?  I'll have a lifetime of first:

College, marriage, children. I'm first

alone and I've forgotten your face,

 

your eyes are fractured from your lips,

your arms and smile untangled in shards

of memory. The pearls are mine. Everything

is mine. The last time I went to the cemetary,

I couldn't find your grave.

 

 

Reviews

[africa]

A meloncony piece. Well written and enjoyed by me. Thank you.

[Toni Prehoda Kahler]

I can't believe you are not published yet....Are you? You are magnificent with your words, you create a story that I slip into without feeling the slope...you know...I just go with you there, all the way. I admit I cried, that sudden knowing at the end.... and I thank you for the journey. I am a younger sister, but the rest was all your own to gift me. All the images and the lines breaking, leaving me gasping, eager for the next line. You must submit this!!! It is classic in its content, and specific in its setting - I am in awe.

I simply can't get enough of your writing.

[THE BLACK SEAL]

sibling rivalry maybe? I never had any brothers or sisters so i do not fully know of it, however the way you painted it explained it quite thoroughly. It was really done well with all of the images and reflections you used on this

[J]

So many thoughts and images to this... overwhelming jealousy is the picture you paint here, and brilliantly, I must say. Cemetery/cemetary: different spellings? Thought I'd bring that up (also, "wore" a white pleated skirt, right?). And in one part, the tense caught me a bit... do you think it would make more linear sense if it was "taught" and "criticized" i.e. past tense?

Anyway, very nitpicky of me, I know, but I figured you'd appreciate it.

As another commenter noted, your last strophe was very saddening. It made me wonder whether it was on purpose because of the seething jealousy or because she died young... it seems she died young actually, after reading this fully through again.

Touching.

[Star-Runner]

So very touching, I love your last verse the best, very well written, you have talent.

[Tara]

This is so touching, it is very hard to review. I imagine it must have been hard to write. In our poetry, we seek to touch the hearts of others. To find that common bond. You have done that here. And Tim's review is almost as beautiful as your poem. He is a wise soul, isn't he? ((hugs)) Tara

[Tim McGovern]

I read and cry and go away then read and cry again.
Everyone tries to put the hole they carry inside into words, very few succeed to this degree,
I feel the ache you carry, and I see that picture that captures the normalcy that should have lasted, long after you'd taken it for granted.

Instead you have given the gift of tears and pain.
That is a treasured thing, whether the reader knows it or not.
I do
Thank you for letting me share in this.


"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God. "
Aeschylus


Namaste' Neshemoleh
Love
Tim