They say I am like you
I would not know
I have photographs, tinged yellow,
Not memories
I listen to stories about you:
Your love for rock and roll, coca cola,
Painting your nails bright red
Dancing barefoot
At these tales, I laugh:
Teaching sisters-in-law “The Twist”
Sliding a beach towel across your backside
After I shower, I slip into your bathrobe
The fabric of gauze clings to my breast
As it must have touched you before
Your jewelry box adorns my dresser
The musical spindle no longer plays a tune
It is brimming with your mementos:
Engagement ring, a diamond chip missing
A strand of hair ribbon, frayed at the edge,
A set of Jr. Stewardess Wings,
A souvenir from my first airplane flight
Your portrait suspended over my bed
As a child, I knelt before it and prayed
In the painting, you look resplendent
Chestnut tresses spiral like English Ivy on your neck
Mona-Lisa eyes, slant with mischief,
Skin, magnolia white, pressed against the glass
A scrapbook bloom, soft,
Unblemished by time passages
Did you hear my prayers?
I wonder, would I know if you replied?
Would I recognize the sound of your voice?
Was it mellifluous?
The euphony of birdsong
Was it sprightly?
A pennywhistle’s quick notes
Was it like my own?
Fast and nervous, a buzz of words,
Like locusts on a summer’s night
Or is it yet the eerie whispers
Haunting my dreams?