Sister

There are no defining features, just faded silhouettes in my memories of you

They're not good or bad the same way life isn't black or white

We were too young to be so old

To shoulder that trauma only meant resilience

But you left too soon for me to figure that out

They say you killed yourself

But maybe those rope burns were calluses gripping skin

Maybe our underlying hatred for one another was love blooming in the spring, waiting for the rainfall

It was dry the year you died

My dry eyes bloomed like bruises

Willing people to poke the tender flesh

They didn't like the way I grieved

Because grief is only carried by those willing to shoulder its tenderness

My shoulders didn't have any room for more burdens to bare

You see, I'm carrying your trauma now as well

Keeping your secrets

Will they kill me too?