By Willa Killion
The cabin porch is adorned with
Half-promises to return, none of us know
What the future might hold.
Fourth grade, fifth grade, graduation
Different lives in different places together
Painting our nails with shining stars,
Dripping the swirling blues on the wood grain.
She doesn’t want to go, she says.
Leaving’s the worst part of connection, she sees,
And we’re connected, carer and cared for
Watcher and watched over,
Siblings, almost, for a week
Or two
Or eight.
Yet days ago she sobbed
In this very place
Begging, pleading, just to leave.
She wants to go home, she cried
About loneliness in the face of her sister
And friends
And promises from others that it would work out.
That her one week would become two
Or more
In the years to come.
So we looked at floppy old picture books,
Talked about adventurers journeying through forests,
Drew ourselves as colorful animals,
Decorated our hair and nails with vibrant color,
And made peace with the place
Surrounded by trees and ferns,
Paint stains and fallen beads,
Chipmunks chattering overhead
In the lichen and firs.
So we live our bright moment together
And keep going.
