i started writing poetry when i was
twelve years
old
my sister only ate apples then,
big, round fuji apples
with colorful & shiny skin
the sounds of the knife
on the cutting board
as she cut through
their heavy flesh
the same
crisp & cold sounds
of her slowly
disappearing
the same
sharp & absolute sounds
of losing her
while she stood right there
in front of me
me, a shy kid
& her
my only true friend
refuge shifting
like a tide
which comes in only
to drag everything
back out to the sea
and she was going:
softly being eaten alive
by a fear of food
or a sense of control
or a desire to
recede back inside of herself
she was lost to
a thousand things
that my small mind
could never understand
and our childhood home stood
on the shore
of her illness
with all of the light sucked out of it
like in the moments before a storm
when everything is dark & still
my mom constantly screaming at her
to get on the scale,
to gain five pounds,
to eat something
all her ways of saying
to get somewhere safe
to stop playing around
to get inside now
to stop this
but i couldn't move
so instead i took refuge
on the page,
crafted a rescue boat
line break by
line break
learned to swim in
metaphors,
long before psych wards
& in-patient treatment centers
long before self-help books
& therapy
i started writing
to find a place where things
still made sense,
just doing my best to weather
the storm.