I knocked on your doors:
some times you came out,
and most times no one was home.
I left a note and invited you over.
I opened my doors,
and you came knocking,
made yourself at home on my welcome mat,
asked for sugar to go make your dough.
So when my arms grew tired of reaching out to knock,
I came back and left my doors open.
And when my heart grew cold from the draft,
I closed it’s doors.
I recently came to be thankful for the role I’ve had in my sibling’s lives. I’m the oldest sibling of four. I have two sisters, one 19 and one 7 and one brother who is 11 years old. My two youngest siblings both have autism. I have a different love-annoyed relationship between each of them.
My brother would probably be considered on the “lower-functioning” side of the spectrum (I don’t necessarily agree with that), as he cannot speak and needs help with most things like safety supervision and personal care. Even after all those times I had to clean after the countless flung poopy diapers, crying, temper tantrums, and endless nights of babysitting, I appreciate the love and brightness he brings into my life. Maybe someday he’ll share what goes on in his head. Despite the struggle of dealing with all the hardships, I came to grow stronger as a person who appreciates patience and compassion.
I know what my brother loves
Most of the time,
he doesn’t speak more
than the “I want”, “more”,
and few vocabulary words.
He’s never told me his favorite color, or
his favorite TV show, or
what he likes to do at school.
He’s never asked me please,
or told me thank you.
He’s never called me by my name.
But I know my brother loves
being tickled and chased
when he we spend
all day doing so until we
cry with stiches in our sides.
I know my brother loves
art when he spends hours
placing swirls, whirls,
curves and dots,
endless lines of colors
in patterns I’d never dream of.
I know my brother loves
sunny days at the park
when he giggles
the whole time we swing
back and forth,
back and forth.
I know my brother loves
ice cream when
he cries to bolt to
the store’s frozen foods section
and then steals the last parts of mine,
knowing I always save the best for last.
I know my brother loves
hugs and cuddles when I
wrap my arms around him
and he holds me tight.
But I don’t have to
hear the words to
know the things my brother loves.
Because I love my brother
and I know he loves me.
Pensive moments always resonates with me. The reflections of an object, an image, a moment, a memory, a story, a lifetime… all in themselves dimensional. I hope to find meaning and what makes life more wholesome through these reflections.
I enjoy revisiting details of memories, ideas, and everyday life and finding meaning from it. I like to think things happen for a reason in life, and creative writing lets me explore those reasons and appreciate it all, the exciting, the mundane, and everything in between.
Taking a minute to stop and just wonder at the beauty in reflections: looking at the good times and their shadows, the bad times and their light is the reason why I write.
So, with that, I say:
Reflections With Color 