Little Graves

On not having the right words for my baby sister.

Femmes et Orangers font Blanc by Baya Mahieddine, 1947

“I don’t feel alive right now.”
And we don’t need to talk about it.
I just reach across the table
And set down a slice of the orange
I have peeled for you.

My fingernails have become little rinds
By removing the threads and pith
It takes time,
But we have our whole lives
And an orange is easy to make perfect.

When I saw the first butterfly of the season
I took a photo of her for you.
In a few months,
Summer will come.
The concrete will hum with excitement.

We will drag our fingers
Stained and sticky with joy
Through warm, salty water
That cajoles us
While we lay in the shallows.

I will make chains of chickpea
And white clover,
And if you find a fleeced dandelion
You will let me make the wish.
We will leave a trail of popped sea grapes behind us.

When we were children, I taught you
To unspool oranges from their skins.
I taught you how to shape the loose rind
Around the ghost of the orange
After we had eaten it.

I taught you to bury the orange peel
Under the sand
And to place a shell as a headstone.
The terpenes wafted off of our hands
As we laid the oranges to rest.

I go for walks in the city often,
And when I pass a dead monarch
Or wren or bumble bee
I build a shrine off the sidewalk.

I move the sweet thing with a pair of twigs,
Carefully, low to the ground.
Then I crouch
And lay the twigs to either side of the body.

I nudge the splayed wings
Back to rest.
I surround the body with what I can scavenge
Near the street in the city:

Milkweed and bunches of spurge,
A tulip petal,
A bouquet of small daisies.
I cover the whole thing with the biggest leaf I can find.

I leave it to rest.
I taught you this too, once,
To notice the passing of little things
Which are apart from us but not completely.

You do not feel alive right now.
I press an orange slice into your hand
And hold it there, for a beat
Pulse to pulse.

We are both here,
Eating an orange together.
Not feeling alive, maybe,
But laying it to rest.