Manifesto of a Soldier's Sister

Manifesto of a Soldier’s Sister

When phone call anxiety turns to hour long talks

so that the clock hand stays

pounding

on a single number

and becomes a bumper of time

to let us both unwind and remember lollipop licks,

cinnamon sticks dipped in apple cider conversation.

When boots dipped in sewer sludge, mud, and blood

become magical boots that lute plane companies

charging too many twenties

to camo colored uniforms

because holding guns and

learning how to run for your life

is enough to suffice a discount ticket,

and superpowers.

When tear stains become rain drops

falling from atop the family Christmas tree.

We’ve been hand picking them since we were three

--evergreen melodies at obnoxious octaves

while marching through squishy fields of brown and green

with rubber boots and lots of rain gear loot.

When hugging stuffed animal Tiger and Gerard the Giraffe

no longer mean I haven’t seen you in six months.

That once you come back I’ll hold your pack

and we will talk like we use to--

I won’t stop for a breath and you will count

how many times I use the word “best”

before you wrestle me for the squirt gun

and run down the water stained hall

only to run back and hug me when I fall.

When PTSD means

Post turkey sandwich deliciousness

When depression means

leaving an impression of angels in snow banks

When night terrors

become something that scare the

fuzzy no-haired monster under my bed away.

When phone calls at 4am

acting like you don’t care

that the world isn’t there

won’t end with a gun to the throat

because you know home is filled

with coats of paint covering up our faint

crayola lines that passed the time as we pretended

to be Harold from the Purple Crayon book.

Thanks for stopping on that note to gloat that

you have the best sister, because mister I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

When loud noises causing you to curl up in the fetal position

becomes the transition into comforting a small being that you call son.

You left the swaddle at home so now you waddle like a penguin to the couch

and vouch that he’ll sleep if you can just slouch on the couch and read him a story

about a corny giraffe that kisses and whistles the stares of other animals away.

Written as part of "how it could be" exercise.