The doorway
to my sister
in this world people painted their realities,
mothers painted their babies, children their toys.
when it was time to leave, one would paint a door that they step into and never return.
There was a boy who struggled to paint
and so struggled to live.
His sister took care of him, painting for the two of them.
Over time both grew up and grew old.
When it was the old woman’s time,
she drew and walked through the door.
But now the old man couldn’t live,
living a life barely worth living.
And so the woman returned to the world as a spirit of what the little boy in the old man remembered,
The truest thing he ever knew.
The spirit guided his brush and he was able to live how he deserved to.
And then when his time came, he drew a door and never returned.
But the spirit could not paint the same door twice, which she always knew.
And so she remained a spirit,
and remains a spirit,
helping those paint to live a life worth living.