Strawberry stained summer days
we spent upon the kitchen floor
her hair a tangle of roses and thorns
her eyes an ocean ravaged by storm
I watch her open her mouth and whisper
I watch nothing come out
My sisters voice is hoarse and beaten
she lies upon the kitchen floor
‘I can’t get up’
Strawberry stains thread into blood stains
seeping out across the floor
stain the spotless clinical tile
with red stripes of desperation
‘I can’t get up’
I can’t breathe
as salt mingels with the strawberry stains
I remember the day
she first lay down
she stopped brushing her hair
and her let her eyes go wild
Her mouth couldn’t utter the words she wanted
and they ran down her face
out of her soul
over her body
They tried to heal her
but they only stung the strawberry stains
We lie upon the kitchen floor
‘You have to get up’ I tell her
‘I can’t’
I remember
the lullaby of childhood
the safety of her voice
Sometimes we have no choice
but to lie on the kitchen floor
‘When will we get up’ I ask
Hysteria crowds the room
spills onto me
Waves of hurt create a flood
drowning her in strawberry stains
‘Get up’ I say
She never gets up again
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