I’m missing her: my cousin. She's been gone since 1987, and still I miss her... As I walked tonight in my neighborhood, on a summer day, like those I remember playing with my cousin, catching lightning bugs, I felt a wave of loneliness. In the later evening, I held the vase and felt the spirit of her living on through a creation by her. It might as well be an urn. But it's comforting to have even after all these years. The Vase I hold the vase you made, cream colored with daisies and butterflies, indentions you carved into wet clay. I cup it gingerly, possibly the last thing you created, before giving it away. Killed in 1987, my best friend, cousin, only one year younger than me, I walk through life missing you, searching for my best female friend, yet always feeling left alone. We wore one another’s shoes, switching one for the other, wearing mismatch, feeling completed by the exchange, knowing no matter wher...
Women's Spiritual Poetry