On the Death of My Sister

The early morning phone call. Then the vague sifting through emotions. Numbness deepens - like the coastal shelf - and soon enough, there'll be grief, regrets... Platitudes. You're in the other room, the better place. But, in truth, you've made the inevitable crossing we all must make and everyone - every one - before us has made, little sister. We are like pilots of ourselves. Now, that which I can't create, buy, fashion or steal is the only thing I can wish ( what a curious idea. Such an ineffectual word ) for you. Peace. That's the one. Peace.