Lake Waban: Water Holds Memory

By Suzanna Schofield

Her sister cries in the bedroom next to hers,

All I have ever known is loneliness.

She doesn’t understand the tear stains down her sister’s face,

With her delusions, it’s a benefit to be ignorant.

So the world keeps turning, and the birds fly off.

Goodbye,

Safe journeys,

To wherever you might go.

The chains around her neck tighten,

She loses breath,

Are you alive?

We won’t know until she’s woken up.

A breath— so sweet and yet so cruel,

She gets out of bed to only fall back in,

Hallucinations are the bane of her existence.

And pain reminds us what is lost, what is gained,

What we hope for.

Relief.

The atmosphere outside reduces into the single digits,

She wonders if numbers get as lonely as she does,

Certainly, the swans and geese and all the other animals who mate for life,

When their partners leave this Earth on a final flight,

Their grief is unmatched,

For how could one truly measure love?

The wind calls them on one last journey,

And she follows suit,

Wondering where the birds go when they die,

Wondering if she will end up there too.

Her father wishes her suffering would end

And sees death as a reward.

The silver lining would be that she would be dead.

You’re not allowed to cry,

You’re a baby,

Do not f*****g cry.

Suzanna Schofield ‘24 (ss104@wellesley.edu): A glass sibling is the sibling of a person with disabilities. How easy they can shatter. From the February 2023 issue.