My pencil tries to draw
what I remember of Nali.
But something in me
will not let
the red
shape her face,
ears,
nose.
Nali’s nose.
Always nuzzling me at night,
always waking me,
warm
with its prodding.
Nali, always tickling me,
wanting to play.
This I miss most about Nali.
Why can’t I make
my pencil
shape
a picture
of Nali’s body,
plump as a feed sack
stuffed with grain?