When Does It End?
By kyattaman
When does it end? It may sound cruel However I am glad That I am not My sister When I think of her The first words are She used to She used to ski She used to ride a bike She used to own a house That was all before the lupus Before the hospital bills Before the surgeries On almost every major organ Before the realization Of how her body Would be Wracked and ravaged With pain Bringing her Almost though not quite To the brink I did not understand What she had to live for Until I saw her At Christmas There was the Usual record Buffalo snowfall The airport closed And me With nothing else to do except Take pictures To remind myself What I had left behind There was my sister With a large Green potted plant From our Brother’s funeral More than Thirty years ago Her son Told of sleeping In my old bedroom Which warmed my heart Although I really woke up When my sister’s friends Called or Visited her She had to turn some people away Doctors Judges Teachers Some of them She had known All her life I was humbled Sharing the celebration of My sister’s joyful And rich life As she taught me Why she keeps living Kenyatta YamelThe body against itself Written April 8th, 2002 © on Apr 08 2002 03:31 PM PST 18 • 0 • 12
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"When does it end?..."