Day 17

We keep writing poems about you
Knowing that if you are actually there
you wont need them.

Three Women, stubborn girls,
holding the threads of who you are,
your puppet strings.

Motions, day dreams move your heart...
those eyes of yours
But we can never find it in us to make you speak
It would look too forced,
it may be too much of what we have wanted to hear
for too long

My youngest sister
she tapes every manifestation of
the distance between you and her
to her eyelashes,
every falling follicle
struggling to hold on
is an ode to you,
the innocence in your eyes

Our eldest, she gives you hands.
Pretends that you know how to love already,
and is careful about everything she touches
the way we dreamed you would be.

And I
am dancing
in the ballroom of your heart,
liquored up
no music on
eyes closed
spinning in circles
like i was never taught
how to move over black and white tile
the right way

And I
am careful to make sure
that no one knows I am here
the way they do;
We don't keep secrets from each other
or handle love obnoxiously;

Understanding,
in the hand work,
in the sweeping steps,
in the taped on innocence,
that with out us
there would be no you
That without you
there very well
may be no us.