Jessica Xu Departure My sister draws maps within the mud, traces her highways with sticks, roads like vessels, all carved within the Earth. She recreates herself as a landmark, a capital star. Morning dew catches on the tips of her hair, her eyes like darkened orbs. It is June now. The months have passed without a salve and her hair is still curling, withering to the ground. The hospital needles were never enough and I am still collecting the fallen blond, saving them for future’s memory. I have not loved her enough. Her years have passed through her in days, hollowed her bones, and drawn her closer to the opening of Earth. In this moment, I will reimagine her as starkly beautiful, without the frailness of her arms, the trembling of her lips. The sun rests its slow palms against the thinness of her skin and she is still unwavering in her fate. When the wind bids her to the place where I cannot follow, I will mark the Earth as the surface of her, as a landmark, strong and unbowing.
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