I am waiting for my sister
She is somewhere down a corridor
Behind a closed door
I am holding her coat that
reeks of cigarettes, pizza
and bus fumes
I imagine she is telling the doctor
about her headaches that
have found a home above her ear
She won’t mention weeping
over a soot covered grave stone
or how TV glare has
grayed her eyes and given her
the pallor of a ghost
Instead she’ll shrug her shoulders
and leave with another refill of the
prescription that helps her sleep
For long stretches
Into the next day
Past all alarms
