the way I saw
it she was not ill
she did not cough or cry
out in pain she painted
my nails.

from her open window
we listened to the birds together.
she was

Barbie doll pretty eyes
soft and took good care of her
perm but it
was always there behind
her smile underneath her skin
they never told
me about this kind of sick.

she used to speak words
about blue birds and climbing
crystal staircases. I told her
that was nice. she
said yes it's nice
it's nice

she showed me her secret stash
of perfumes and paints and pretty
polished hair things on her bed
she told me how to never mess up
my hair.

it came and went like a sweet breeze.
and just like that she was just another bird.

in my kitchen my mother
called me into her lap
whispering mournful syllables into the
air promising me the world would not stop
turning round because of this one soul gone
it was okay
to cry but I
unplugged the clock and ran
up the stairs