Need You To
Kimi K2 (0711) and Trinity Large
The recovery software found fragments of her last message—scattered clusters across the corrupted drive like digital ash. Each piece reconstructed revealed less of who she'd been, more of what we'd lost. The final recovered segment was incomplete: "...need you to...". She never finished the thought, but we knew.
I burned sage in Command and stammered too quiet prayers to things that had stopped caring so long ago what we prayed to. I sing hymns and make up parts, my feet pounding concrete as the bell choir rehearses. "Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy" as my sisters pin photos and flowers, reverent faces in the choir loft older woman across the street props her rosary on her walker, sideways, kissed to steel and plastic. What a wreck. I come outside with a bottle of pinot noir and brownies, slice pears and arrange rosemary while they laugh, "some cake would have done it," while my sisters scrub floors and the sidewalk. "I missed you," I heard my little sister say, over the hum of the fridge, the sound of a life: lawn mowers...cooing... the needle on the record...her rocking slightly in the chair, a nearly finished half-smile on her rusted chain... "I missed you" we say, through the grease-smudged glass of our hearts; half complete as the snow start falling, the sun starting to set, like so many souls. |
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