For Elana & Janeah, Dancing Through the Distance

A joyful and bittersweet tribute to two high school sisters who love to dance, laugh, and live loud despite quieter communication. love endures even across distance and family silence.

You were glitter before you knew what glitter was, barefoot in living rooms, twisting to TikTok beats, arms flung wide like the world was always music.

Elana, born on May winds, serious at times but never without sparkle. I held you in the softness between mango season and monsoon, a baby with eyes that seemed to ask questions before language caught up.

Janeah, a January firework, named in rhythm with Leah’s legacy, you moved like laughter had a pulse, flipping through air like joy was measurable by how high your heels left the floor.

You were always silly, even when pretending to be tough, wrapping eyeliner and attitude around fragile things, still girly, still golden.

Now you pass like flickers, a response when prompted, a hello if I ask first. You carry the weight of loyalty to a silence that isn’t yours.

But I remember what’s real: how your giggles once lit my hallway, how you danced like forgiveness was already playing.

And so I leave this here, not in demand, not in sorrow, but in celebration of the girls you still are and the love that doesn't need to be loud to last.

Author's Note

This poem was written for my nieces, Elana and Janeah, two girls who light up a room with laughter, dance, and shared rhythm. Though family tensions have shifted how we communicate, this piece celebrates the joy they brought into my life—their silliness, their strength, and the love that still lives quietly beneath the surface. Sometimes love isn't loud, but it remains—especially when it began in babysitting, belly laughs, and childhood dancing.