CHELSY-LEE ORDONEZ DE CROSS
My sister is lost.
She is lost in a haze…
We used to lie, hand in hand, on our backs, our gaze fixed above.
Counting the clouds, imagining what lay beyond them.
Kingdoms of great glory?
…
An empty canvas waiting for our stories?
Or just the bodies of men who chased God?
The mountain by our house is so grand that we have never seen its peak, but many have tempted fate to unveil it.
A secret that the clouds held… a private sanctuary or perhaps a treacherous hell.
This sister I once knew, is now a stranger.
For in the night, silence falls upon town,
The sky turns dark, adorned by speckles of shine.
Our families resting,
finding solitude in their dreams.
But, I would not succumb to sleep’s sweet whisper.
Neither would she.
At the twelfth hour, her bed laid bare,
I knew where to look.
Every night, without a hitch, I’d open my eyes
wide,
wide,
wider,
adjusting to the dark so that I could see her;
In our windowless room a small slit sits above us.
I had never thought much of this slit:
But
it seemed to bewitch my sister…
She had gathered three wooden stools
Stacking them
one,
by one,
by one.
Atop this throne of wood, my sister would kneel,
her neck crooked and pressing against the slit in the roof, she was peering out…
and speaking…
Her words haste and muffled,
Incoherent and haunting.
For thirty unbroken nights she performed this ritual.
She would kneel on her wooden throne,
Her crooked neck and secret whispers paralysed me.
Her silhouette melted into the stools.
Birthing a long and gangling creature that I did not recognise.
Growing larger each night, taking up more,
and more,
and more
of the room.
I watched; my body arrested,
my mind begging for answers.
Yet, despite my yearning
I
never
grew
brave
enough
to ask.
The sanctity of her ritual became clear:
I have never been a girl who asks a man why he prays
and my sister was praying.
To whom? Or what?
I did not know.
A fire burnt feverously behind my eyes…
Soon I would lose sight of my sister-creature,
and awake to her breathing heavily in slumber next to me.
Was I a deluded girl?
Yet I knew I was not mad, for when my sister woke, neck sore from the night before, and my eyes crimson,
our maladies left me with proof
It was not a dream.
It was our secret.
On one of the thirty days, my sister and I decided to play and for the first time it felt like she may be okay.
We ran, chortling, falling down and getting up,
falling down, getting up…
then down, and up again.
We spoke of very sisterly things,
nothing sinister, nor complicated, nor confusing, as sisters who become creatures sniffing at the corners of their cages in the night,
praying to something, maybe God himself?
The Father who governs the heavens above, who we hope lies just above the clouds, dusting his heavenly kingdom, awaiting our arrival.
"Sister. Do you hold faith that God is waiting for us above the clouds?"
My question
hung,
like bad men in the town square,
between us…
swinging and twitching, waiting to be taken
down.
She looked upwards to the peak of the mountain
shrouded in a white veil.
Her lips parted.
I listened close,
"Yes sister, of course I do…For our Heavenly Father awaits us each night, floating just above the clouds. Close yet far, and loud for those who listen…"
Her voice grew heavy, akin to the chilling mumbles I hear in the night.
The shadow behind her outgrew her skin, resembling the gangling sister-creature once again.
I recoiled, returning to the house, yielding idle work as each hour brought me closer to what I dread.
As the moon rose, we entered the thirty-first night of this nightmare.
Sleep cast its sweet spell over me, until an ancient howl filled my ears, threatening to possess me.
When I woke, my sister was gone.
Her wooden throne laid unmade.
Where could she be?
I did not look for her, instead I rose… guided by the howls echo.
I walked over to the stools,
stacking them just how my sister-creature had done each night before.
One stool,
two stools,
three stools.
They laid atop each other, forming the wooden throne.
My heart beat fast and deep, pulsing through my head as I climbed.
Her throne was shaky, unstable and unforgiving…
Still I climbed…
One stool,
two stools,
three stools.
At the summit, I straightened my body upwards to reach the roof.
My neck crooking and my eyes peering out of the slit.
The peak;
Shrouded in its veil… that is all I could see.
Was this it?
That is when I saw her, my sister-creature, a small body ascending the mountain.
There she climbed,
Up, and up and up…
I tried to scream out to her, but she could not hear me
She rose, up and up and up…
How could a young girl reach the summit, when men often died trying?
I imagined her foot slipping and
her body falling back to Earth like a scorched angel… but she did not stumble.
Hot pain bulged in my throat, wet glistening down my cheeks, transfixed and watching her, I couldn't look away.
She reached the peak, disappearing into the veil.
The clouds welcomed her.
Years have passed,
I still conjure her in my mind each night,
I wonder,
I beg:
God tell me why.
He does not have an answer,
for he is the answer.
To dream of heaven, salvation, of better things in a life so dreary,
I can understand;
But I wish she had taken me with her.
To leave a sister behind in the pursuit of heaven is something so wrong.
Yet I can’t hold anger.
I love my sister.
Each night I assume her former position, a familiar echo
taunting me.
I kneel upon the wooden throne, and I peer out the slit,
awaiting her return.
Please, please, please - Come back and bring a piece of heaven for me.
Chelsy-Lee is a multifaceted artist, writer and performer with a passion for storytelling. She is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in Anthropology, whilst also curating exhibitions as the Youth Liaison Officer at Lyox Gallery. Her work often explores themes of culture, identity, religion, the female experience and the intersectionality of her mixed Latina/Australian background.
If Only I Could See Above the Clouds, is a narrative poem drawing on gothic, folkloric and fairytale styles to explore ideas of indoctrination, grief, faith, obsession and the desire to escape, framed by the experience of a relationship between two sisters.