Who am I today? I’d say, staring into the mirror.

Sometimes like a vampire,

I cast no reflection.

Other times, all I saw

was my wild desire to bring her back.

I was tired all the time.

I quit, or was fired from job after job.

Finally, I asked my parents to send money,

which I used to buy green contact lenses

and breast implants.

I dyed my blonde hair red

and adopted a brogue.

I learned to step dance

and joined an Irish troupe and went on the road.

I did what I fantasized my sister would do.

My mind flew everywhere like a bird on a dare.

I resolved to remain in flight,

but one night, during a performance

my feet simply would not move.

I had to be carried offstage

and lifted into an ambulance.

In the hospital, I chanced to see

the horrible events of September 11th on TV.

The day of my release, I told a nurse,

“I’m well, you know,”

and she didn’t even glance my way,

as she replied, “That’s what they all say.”

On the way to my apartment,

my sister came out of hiding.

“You’ll find me at ground zero,” she whispered

and I answered, “I know.”

“I had a conversation with the dead.

It was all in my head,” I said aloud.

No one paid any notice.

I was just another person “with issues”

and on that day in particular

attention was focused elsewhere.

So when I showed up at the lodging

for relatives of survivors,

I had an identity at last

that combined the past with the present.

Still, I couldn’t find my sister.

I wondered if she had vaporized,

or whether her body, or part of it

was fused to some piece of metal

I would never see, much less feel.

Maybe she was sealed in a room

beneath tons of debris, I told myself,

then I thought I heard her calling my name

over the cacaphony of machines,

the voices of rescue workers,

and dogs barking

when they caught the scent of a body,

only to discover another body part

and slink off dejectedly,

until at last, even they lost heart.

By then, I didn’t have to pretend

I hadn’t given up myself,

and given in to the grim truth

unfolding before my eyes.

I came to hate the lie of my sister

even as I became a symbol of sisterly devotion.

I knew I wasn’t worthy,

yet, I couldn’t stop the forward motion,

propelling me toward the ocean

where she drowned

in glass, metal, fire and ash.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore,

I said I got word she’d never been there afterall.

I had received a mysterious telephone call

informing me she’d left her job

at The World Trade Center months ago,

but didn’t know how to reach me.

A friend had seen her photo on a kiosk