The Parting

At seven years old, my father and Uncle Wilson stole Sarah Elizabeth’s (identical to my) arms into their forceful grip

Pulling her (identical to my) twisted long body off the big rock she had been sitting on Across from me in the canyon.

Both of us fought the parting with screeching screams, angry fists and huge blue-eyed Tears until the air where Sarah Elizabeth had been was nothing but

Vacant, blank, dismal, breathless and empty.

At fifty-eight years old I have searched in every crowd,

Genealogical website,

Adoption registry and

Missing person’s poster after my pleading for clues was buried

With guilty silences that burn to my very core.

I imagine her walking up the path to my porch,

Gracefully aged to meet me one day.

The wind pushing her empty rocking chair next to mine.

My hands still tremble after all these years of nighmares

Of the dark places where I envisioned they might have taken Sarah.

The sun sets on the vacant air where Sarah Elizabeth belongs

But no one left tracks to follow

Or whispered hopeful dreams

Into my open ears

Not ever.

Just like last night and the night before, I, foolishly leave the porch light beaming

Its long light streaming across the entire yard.

Wearily, I put my (identical body) to bed

Envisioning our reunion in my blind eyes for tomorrow.