Missed

It’s disgusting how you were treated as a child.
I was so young back then; I didn’t know what was happening.
But I know all the truths; I know all the lies.
They haunt my eyes with mismatched stitches and lines.

Months ago I had a nightmare,
We were at a funeral.
It was the first time I’d seen you,
Since you could barely form words.

You stood at a dock, ruler straight.
Like the little princess you learned to be.
Your red hair fell around a black dress.
The orange air tanned your skin.

You looked at me like I was a person you use to know.
I could have been imagining your own vision.
But I would hope that I was not lost in your mind.
Even though in reality I know I am.

You asked me if I knew your mother,
Because this is the first time you’ve ever seen her.
In her casket so close to what she always needed.
So close to her past yet trapped in death.

I told you that she was my sister.
And the answers are too painful to burden you with.
Yet, if you want to know everything,
I will share your tears when the shock wears off.

So we stood until the darkness wore down our sun.
We listened to a stiff eulogy in the distance.
Then you sighed and turned to me,
“I don’t know if I am supposed to miss her.”

For some reason I couldn’t tell you that you should.
But I could tell you that I’ve missed you my whole life.
You thank me because you needed someone to care.
We said a prayer and cried for the departed.