My Little Sis

My Little Sis

 

Silence at sunrise.

It's not unusual.

It's summer,

for late slumber.

Yet , a sound.

Woke mother and I.

Gargling sound.

So terrorized and frightening.

My little sister

shaking uncontrollably.

Panic.

Motionless.

What to do, but watch.

In fear and desolation.

Until it was over.

Did relief come.

My sister blank oblivious eyes.

Eyes watching our expression of distress.

Remember?

Not a thing.

Not the foaming.

Not the abstract look.

Nor the meager breathing.

A memory of it, not existent. 

Not knowing that

we'd watch her struggle

between life and death. 

The outcome never known;

dread always there.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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