Eliana

by Kyla Alterman

I sat
on my black leather couch
surrounded by strangers,
my family, also strangers,
and plates of cookies
to distract restless hands,
reckless mouths.
And you came into the foyer.
You were taller than your mother
as it had been
since 4th grade.
And I couldn’t understand
why you were here.
Gramps was dead,
but you didn’t know him,
and hadn’t known me
for four years.

I thew my arms around you
and I didn’t understand,
but I hoped I looked good
so you would remember me now,
not just remember my tongue licking the sides of
your chocolate pudding cups. And
you no longer played Pink Panther, Spy Fox,
The Sims.
But I upgraded to the Simons 2.
And you, no doubt,
lost the photos of our first
halloween together,
while I have my ‘lil sis’
friendship bracelet stored away. Yet,
you were in
my foyer,
surrounded by strangers.
And in the days of
our back-seat-of-the-school bus dictatorship
I never thought it possible
us, also strangers.
So we talked
and I took a black and white cookie
because every word hurt.