The stage was dark
The seats were full
The costumes were wild

I looked around me
With heightened antici-
Pation

Two Transylvanians
Entered stage left
“Are there any virgins in the house?”

Timidly, I raised my hand.
She raised her’s too.
“Mom? You’re a virgin?”

She grinned sheepishly,
“Let the double feature begin!”
She screamed, as we lost our virginity.
Together.

Sometimes I forget the fun and the learning
Because all I remember is your temper burning
But then some years later, someone makes a remark
And I think, that’s familiar, but the details are dark

You know that episode, that show, that song?
I do, but wow, haven’t thought of it in so long
Wondering if I can forget the bad that rides with the good,
It might be worth it, just to see if I could

Sometimes it works, and again it’s all new
New memories featuring new faces, not you
They may never know the full scope of their gifts
Or how they succeeded – without trying – in healing a rift.

Over the years
There was one
That kept watch
Over her

Making sure she wasn’t lonely
By reading to her
Little Melody’s back leaning
Against her strong body

When the sun was bright
Little Melody would
Lay a blanket at her feet
And the two enjoyed the sun together

Over the years
The family changed
The little girl grew up
Leaving her for other things

Over the years
She stood watch
Just outside
The kitchen window

As little Melody
Grew into a young lady
With other interests
She still kept her company, though

Climbing down her strong branches
In the silence of the night
Instead of climbing up
In the bright sunshine

No longer were books read
Melody leaned against the tree
To share a kiss of passion
With a young man instead

Over the years
The family changed
The young lady grew up
Leaving her for other things

Over the years
She stood watch
Just outside
The kitchen window

As young Melody
Grew into a woman
With a child of her own
Melody made sure she had company

Melody, now a young mother
Leaned her back against
The strong body of her favorite tree
Reading to her daughter

Over the years
She stood watch
Just outside
The kitchen window

Now, only silence sits with us,
And not the comfortable one,
At least not on my end.
Making the space between us
Seem like hundreds of miles.

It’s not that we went separate ways.
We still do the exact same things,
Just not with each other,
Just not anymore.

We once considered each other family.
Once we even joked that we married.
Where there was one of us,
The other was never far behind.

Now, you sit in your room
Watching that stupid television show.
Now, I sit in the living room
Playing that stupid video game.

Our paths once ran together,
Like two pieces of a different puzzle,
Fitting together in perfect harmony.
Now, the edges of each piece are seen,
Messily overlapping one another.

It’s sad that we don’t talk, really.
When you think about it enough.
Once we called each other
Friend, Sister, and Wife
Now, we don’t call each other,
Knowing only silence will answer.

I kid you not: we were actually pretty shocked when it turned out she hadn’t orchestrated some deal with God (or even Billy Mays) to let her take at least some of it with her.

It wasn’t until I grew up that we became friends,
After I’d completed my share of moving,
Tried my share of illegal substances,
Loved my share of people.
We became friends out of convenience,
I was old enough to be in a bar,
But not old enough to drink.

So, every night I had off work,
We’d all go out.
You, me, Dad, and Beaker -
Your only friend it seemed.
You all would knock the drinks back,
While I laughed and watched,
Waiting to load three drunken men into my Chevy

On my twenty-first birthday,
We became best friends,
One friendship left over
From my ill-fated attempt at love
With your best friend, Beaker.
The night was long, the drinks were short.
I drunkenly kicked your ass in guitar hero.

Now, we go out every week,
You, Me, and Beaker.
We drink and we dance.
Beaker and I still make out.
Your friends at the bar look at me with interest.
The bartender looks at me with a smile,
“Don’t worry, it’s not a girl,
Jay’s just her brother!”

(This was going to be an ode at first, but I can’t wrap my head around meter enough)

The one thing she liked about Christmas
Was shopping for her nephews.
Not that the little brats deserved presents
They were already far too spoiled.

She walked down the toy aisle
Past the educational toys
Past the action figures
Past the balls and bats

She stopped in front of the section
That held every mothers worst nightmare.
Not taking much time to deliberate,
She hastily loaded her cart

The next morning,
Over the combining sounds
Of a drum, a keyboard, and a harmonica
She heard her older, seemingly perfect sister mutter.
“Bitch.”

—
Oh, here.

you would bring the camera with you
one time in that grocery bag
and the apple juice spilled
all over the lens
the pictures from disneyworld
all came out with an orange tinge that year.
but you always brought it,
filling pages upon pages of albums
documenting those more innocent days,

those albums wound up somewhere
though none of us can quite remember
but even if we cannot find them
up in some dusty box in the attic
or at my grandparents house,
i will probably always remember
my favorite one
making pizzas with you and dad
and me in the middle giggling as i stirred up a cloud of flour

http://poetryassignment.com/2008/12/assignment-flour/