My Dying Sister’s Words Are Gone
It’s no use to call now. I buy
signal lamps instead.
I touch my lamp
and hers glows pink.
She touches back,
my lamp glows blue.
All those years we didn’t talk.
Now we signal.
Pink. Blue. Pink.
In Sunday school we sang
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel?
Hers was always
the loudest no!
Now even the song
is gone.
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