Still Here

The morning was so gray, weighty—

the clouds kept a promise to pin me.

My spirit unleavened,

hearing the cry of my sister asking

why?

Your yellow dress didn't wake us.

I was certain

the clouds would never lift

nor the gray,

wrapping me in muted wool,

my grief cocoon

where everything inside changed.

The weather followed—

winter came before

spring bloom

without the gentle fall.

Suddenly

you were pictures

on my bedroom wall,

framed—

I couldn't feel or touch,

only hear

the songs you loved

I played alone.

Listening, listening

as the clouds lifted

and you brought the sun

to my curtain.