I shared a too~small bed
with my luminous sister,
a highschool girl well on her way to becoming
a lifelong professional success story
(I hope she found happiness along the path).
Six long years apart, we managed
to tolerate each other alright.
I didn't laugh at her haircurlers
& insipid makeup tips;
she didn't curl her lip (too often)
in disgust at my torn jeans with dirty knees.
Even with her inherent fear of heights,
she climbed socially (ravenously),
trying to get out of the ditch
she only thought we were in.
One night,
I was playing possum
when she tried, again,
to take the stuffed parrot
out of my (supposed to be) sleeping arms ~
I screamed bloody murder
& my mother made her give it back.
I haven't felt secure since then,
if I ever did before;
too much has been taken from me
& I remember each loss acutely.
The next year, she was watching us
while my parents were away.
I got scarlet fever & nearly died ~
she worried herself into a state
of future childlessness.
Many years later,
she told me about a library job
at the college where she worked ~
I got it & kept it for twelve years
while she danced with numbers for IBM
& went to Oxford.
Our half~sister ghosted herself
& she went to the Australian Outback,
never to be seen or heard from again.
I don't have the stuffed parrot anymore, either ~
I gave it to my goddaughter
to ease her night terrors,
along with my favorite book of fairy tales
(did I ever really believe in them?)
I sensed childlessness, too,
would be my fate,
not my choice.
I miss them all
during nights when I can't sleep
for the heft of darkness
upon my heart.
~ July 20, 2006
Adding your comment:
I once had a gallery showing with a Friend who did the photography & I did the poems...It was called "Fenix"...I have always identified with stepping through the embers, Mark...I am most pleased to have you with me on the journey now...we shall travel far & wide, Poet...together...
Vlindertjie
I've been writing quite a few deeper, darker, more "confessional" & story~like poems lately...I'm pleased you enjoyed this one...transcendental baby & a few other people have recently been telling me I should write a novel...
I dunno...maybe one day...Poetry is so much more contained...& so much faster, which lends itself to a busy lifestyle...I recently left a huge comment & a list of some of the darker, deeper pieces I've done on an entry in Mary Cat's "wrath" contest, as well as adding them as a list on my author's page...I called the list "Edgier"...
I stand corrected! Not thinking of doing myself in, just disappearing. And what is the sense in ASKING???!! That is like asking the police what they would think if you were running from the law! Kind of blows the cover off the disappearing part, eh? 
20 old applause
