the sound of water splashing,

and edges of paper crumbling.

and the wails of my younger sisters rambling.

i could hear it all,

even the scent of the lemon,

the lemon that fell upon the pond.

the same pond where our boats would set sail.

she clung to me like the branches on a tree,

i tucked her hair behind her ears,

like grandma used to do.

as we watched the lemon float.

it was all loud.

the whimpers,

the smells,

the silence.

but i was still,

as still as a cinderblock.

a cinderblock bound to crumble.