A poem I wrote about suicide for my half sister, Amy Neiwell. |
Nobody sees you A tiny scrap of wood Strewn forlornly Atop a green shelf. Nobody knows Your story But me. She used to know too. She was the one Who found you In the CVS store Trapped inside A plastic prison. Yet you stood there Straight and tall. Shining your green letters Proudly. Bragging Of your youth. She chose you. Out of all the others In the store. And in the car She unlocked your prison And held you For the first time With her chubby little hands Eyes filled with curiosity. The second time She was five years old. She pressed you Too hard Against the paper But you did not mind. You allowed her To shave off your lead As she wrote Her first word. She beamed smugly Eyes filled with pride. Many hands guided you Across many papers. You grew shorter And shorter. Your tip Grew duller And duller. Until one day It broke. And that was the day That she broke Too. You were sharpened Once more While she was still broken Beyond repair. The last time She was 15 years old. She held you With long, slender fingers. She guided you Across a white page. You etched out Her last word. She picked up a knife Eyes filled with tears. And you sat Next to the note As she dampened you With blood. Nobody sees you A tiny scrap of wood Strewn forlornly Atop a green shelf. Nobody knows Your story But me. She used to know too. |