These days, so often, I miss her.
That funny little thing with round pink glasses and frilly bows
juxtaposed with a special affinity for coddling worms and snakes and toads.
She was so very confident, in herself and the goodness of the world.
Life was extraordinarily simple and delightfully sweet
with brother living just down the hall,
and spry grandparents who could still give underdogs on the swing
exhilarating enough to write home about.
Her body was just a vessel then,
for joy and mischief and wrestling and thumb wars
as she hadn’t yet looked in the mirror with revulsion
or pinched at her sides in loathing.
I miss her I miss her I miss her.
She didn’t worry about taking up space,
quite the opposite -
she was unapologetically loud and made herself so very big!
and sang and leapt and danced and chortled
with no sense of meekness to be found.
How lovely it was then, when people were inherently good -
she had not yet been stung by cruel words meant to cut
or yet felt the stomach churn along with an unwelcome touch.
Oh, I miss her I miss her I miss her.
In these recent years, I have played many parts.
I have been a drunk and a flirt
and a performer and a clown
and many versions of myself that pour confidence and charisma
from rather shallow cracks in my psyche.
I reach for her and yet I fall short of the raw nature of that her that child
The nonchalance of her humor and the earnestness of her nature.
In these moments increasingly so,
I miss her I miss her I miss her.
I miss how she played in and swung from the branches of the big oak tree by the red barn
and skinned knobby knees performing daredevil stunts of the razor scooter variety
and chattered with the cats back and forth all day with an ease of mutual understanding.
She knew exactly who she was
No inauthentic part to play but the occasional fantastical creature.
Unafraid of risk for its potential hurts
nor particularly concerned with whimsy-crushing notions such as logic or reason.
I miss her I miss her I miss her.
And as I yearn for her,
I feel her though with me in special moments here and there.
I feel her when I run barefoot through the grass on a cool summer evening
huffing and puffing, chest aching but laughing at the sheer joy of being alive.
Or when I dance around my kitchen with Toulouse the cat
honorable namesake of her favorite childhood character,
and him and I talk like old friends and, even sometimes exchanging favorite jokes.
I feel her when I lay flat on the ground and play with the strings of the carpet
while mom makes dinner in the next room over on short visits home,
or when I share big belly laughs with my dearest cousin
repeating the same jokes and howling louder each time,
cheeks aching from the sport of extreme grinning.
She is with me!
She is with me!
She is with me!
