My sister hears voices and sings in the shower

“My shoulders ache” She accuses us of the crime - setting spiritual intentions to sit heavy on her shoulders. like she isn’t already carrying enough. Like we decided she should suffer more.

No, she is certain - we gathered privately in a dark room with dark intentions And learned to cast spells to weigh down her arms to sit on her hands to add to the ache - as if she’s not hurt enough.

she doesn’t understand If we had the power
we’d remove the intruder. Her world would tilt back to normal We’d banish the voices the weight would be gone

so quickly she’d float.

But we’re the villains. villains don’t get apologies.

some moments she feels safe she smiles and it’s like the clock wound back. “You remember?” I want to cry. A few merciful minutes
she remembers who we are And who we were.

But then she catches us sitting the wrong way taking an incorrect breath or forgetting to blink. Now we remember: there’s a mushroom cloud in her mind it eats her fond memories it erodes her senses it erases all insight.

still nobody says “I’m sorry for your loss”

We didn’t lose her physically - she walks, she stomps, she slams doors.

ghosts can’t do that.

we’ve been saying goodbye for years, slowly and nobody really knows. maybe they haven’t seen that look. The look in her eyes like she’s wrestling with the devil while trying to pass the salt.

Her shoulders ache and it’s our fault.

fine.

I won’t apologize for something I never did And she doesn’t apologize for filling the house with eggshells and land mines

But Can God apologize?

For creating something So sharp So beautiful So alive
and not screwing the lid on properly.

I know she’s not always gone. she used to sing every day now she says her voice isnt real - that it doesn’t belong to her. they stole that, too.

but the other night I swore I heard her sing for a few seconds In the bathroom

I craned my neck To catch her music before the fears could creep back in.