No more rewrites
When you came to me last night
Your hair was long and straight
With side-swept bangs
And you were wearing a tube skirt and a halter top.
You’d lost weight
And you looked nineteen.
And I said
“You look so young.
I could never be as beautiful now as you are.
I am so old.”
And you said nothing.
And we sat on my bed in the room we shared
In the house where we grew up
And we didn’t talk—
I just looked at you.
And you seemed distracted, like you had things to do
That didn’t concern me.
Then Dad called from downstairs
And you got up, and you left me there, on the bed,
Remembering that you both are gone.