Remember? That song he’d sing us? From California, to the New York Island, From the redwood forest, to the Gulf Stream waters … He was right. It is your land, all of it. You are everywhere in it. The whole big world we dreamed of.
When Dad handed the jar to me, I poured out the rest of the ashes and watched the wind carry them down to the water. Little bits still stuck to my fingers. I said, “She’s free now.”
And then Dad started sobbing like a little kid. I’ve never seen him that way before. I went to hug him. Mom stood off to the side, but eventually she came over, too, and all of our bodies were shaking together.
When it was over, Dad ruffled my hair and said, “I love you, Laurel.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
“You’re strong, but you’re still our baby girl,” Mom said. Her eyes met Dad’s and held on to them for a moment. “We’re proud of you. Your sister is, too.”
I smiled at them and asked, “Do you want to play Poohsticks?”
They laughed. Dad said, “I haven’t thought about that game in years.”
“May and I still used to play together,” I said, “after you taught us here. We’ll do one for her, too.”
So we crossed the tracks onto the forest side to look for sticks. Mom picked one with a pretty knot on the wood. Dad’s was like a walking stick. I got myself one with the bark still on, and I got you a smooth one, straight and strong. We went back on the bridge and leaned over the edge, and “One, two, three, drop,” Dad counted. And as we ran to the other side to see, yours won! I told them it’s because you were hurrying toward the sea.
I imagined your stick, washing in the waves for hundreds of years, turning to driftwood, smooth and hard like stone. I imagined a little girl finding it on a beach so many years later. Saving it on her shelf, where she put the things that made her feel like the world was magical.
May, I decided that I might want to be a poet when I grow up. Which is pretty much now, because I guess this is what growing up is like. So, I wrote my first poem this week. I wrote it for you. Before we left the bridge, I read it out loud to you.
A Love Letter for My Sister
A ghost cannot open an envelope. Still I address
this to you—I am saving this world for you, see.
River water runs. Fields fill with golden.
Apples bitten. A ghost cannot open
an envelope. A ghost cannot run.
The road travels its forever distance.
Two girls pause by a bridge, to notice.
The fall leaves don’t fall hard.
The spring lasts forever, after a storm.
I am opening this envelope for you, see.
An open blue flower. A paper bag holds a candle.
I am letting the world open me.
A leaf falls. A lead smudge
leads to a girl in a red dress.
I am reading the letters you meant for me to see.
I hope that you will open the envelopes,
so I am opening the world inside of me.
I am sending my letters to you.
The river goes to the ocean.
The ocean sounds infinite.
We are big enough to hear it.
Both of us.
Love always,
Your sister, Laurel