The Turning

The story she would never tell me

Now spills out of her mouth like silk,

As smoke fills the room.

I know her to be resilient and strong,

But the grass turns her slowly—

So much so, I don’t notice that I’m looking at

A whole new angle of her,

A new side that I’ve never seen before.

Her vulnerability hits my chest like a bat,

And I lean back into her couch with the force of it.

I can feel her grief,

The kind that gives you new eyes for the world,

The kind that changes the way food tastes,

And sounds are heard.

She is a new person since the passing of her father,

And she grieves for her former self,

As much as she does for the man who raised her.

I vow to hold onto this moment

Shared between friends turned sisters.

I vow to be present and quiet,

An ease in the midst of her overwhelm.

And I steel myself a little more,

For when I am a woman in my 50s

Grieving the loss of my papa.