The below poem was part of the Voice Poetry Project Midterm assignment and was written from the persona of River James (R.J.) Patterson.

The Dwindles

“I never thought I’d go first,” Tamara said.

She tried to fake a laugh but just coughed,

Lying on crisp white, starchy sheets,

Bleached into being uncomfortable…

Sheets, the only part she’d complained about.

Reaching out, I stroked my hands

Through the peach fuzz, covering her pale head.

Noticing the contrast between her frail dying form

And my own form, still sturdy and thriving.

I couldn’t make up some story, some lie

About how she was going to pull through.

She had accepted the truth first,

And now the rest of our family was coming to terms.

I held back my tears, wanting to stay strong

As my twenty-year-old sister kept watching me

And, this time, she laughed for real.

She cocked her head to the side and clicked her tongue.

The gesture showed the sassy, vibrant person she used to be.

“Don’t do that! Not to me,” she said.

I shrugged, questioning her with a look, to which she replied, “Hide.”

Tears escaped this time, and she reached out to hold my hand.

Grown into my only confidante, my partner in crime,

The person I loved most in the world.

She was dying, and I couldn’t help her.

I couldn’t protect her from this.

It wasn’t some boyfriend,

Easily intimidated by older brothers.

Death wasn’t afraid of me,

But she wasn’t afraid of death.

“Do you think I would ever REALLY leave you?”

She asked with her own tears starting to show.

“I’m going to haunt your ass until you join me,

But you’re not allowed to join me until you’re an old man,

At least eighty-five years old,” she declared with a smile.

“Just like a woman! Telling me when I’m allowed to die,”

I sobbed back to her.

Then, we both cried and laughed together

Until her end came a few days later.