Dear brother,
It feels strange to write this letter,
it feels as if I could send it down the clothes chute
and you’d be in the basement ready to receive it.
My room seems deathly quiet
without your occasional laughter through the air vents.
I think Mom still cries when she takes down the laundry
and is greeted with silence rather than singing hellos from all your friends.
I think Dad still finds himself reaching for the phone
wondering what time you’ll be home.
I miss bumping into you in the kitchen past both our bedtimes
teasing hushes at each other and heating leftovers.
You were an upbeat song on replay, an everlasting expression
of everything I wanted to be.
Your music is quieter now, but I still find you
stuck in my head.
And even though I know
I’ll see you on Christmas and Thanksgiving
I hate that on the day you turn 20, we’ll be celebrating
the mailman’s birthday
he’ll get all the presents that used to be passed
over the dining room table.
It’ll be good to see
you back home
It’ll be good to see
you again,
if only for the weekend.
Love,
Your sister.