This poem is called an Elegy and it’s purposefully supposed to be really sad or talk about the mourning of a person, place, or moment in your life. So get ready to be upset!
This poem is for my sister because I want to mourn our childhood! Fun!
When We Were Younger and Together
We woke up before the sun. I was usually downstairs first, and mom would have to yell at you to hurry because class was in 10 minutes and it usually took 10 minutes to get there. We fought or we laughed on our way to the car or we slunked in silence with backpack straps clenched in my hand and you swinging the keys to our hippie van that I loved and we used to have two, but then they both disappeared. I don’t really know where they went, but sometimes I see one on the highway and I wonder if it was ours. One time we left a box of crayons under the seat and they melted into the floor’s carpet on a hot day. And we took that van to bible study where I was afraid that if I didn’t believe in God I would perish. I asked our minister if we got into heaven would we still see the people we loved that were left in hell? They said “good question,” and moved on. One of those nights we tried to light candles for a friend who had died and you crashed into a parked car because I think you were drunken on grief or maybe you were tired from being the only student who wanted to know what Mr. Painter was saying. When you left I was scared about our family dinners because now I was solely responsible for keeping up conversation with our parents because you just use to talk with them while I ate on your left and occasionally tried to kick or pinch you until you’d scream “JAFEI STOP.” Once I wrote you a song before you left and it was a piece of hot turd shit and you knew it, but Aunt Lingna cried and said something like “Sisters are important friends.” I really didn’t think that memory would still stain the inside of me. But, then again, I didn’t think any part of our childhood would become this delicate glass figurine laying beneath my chest, taking on more weight with each new year we make memories without each other.