Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Saturday, May 03, 2008

#3 I have two sisters . . .

I have two sisters, one dear,
one lost somewhere in Texas.
I’m not sure exactly when
we stopped talking, maybe the day
she tried to steal a television
out the back window. She was so pretty
people stopped to stare.
We couldn’t walk through a grocery store
for the men who followed her.
I went off to college.
She joined a California commune.
She visited the Tate house two weeks
before the Manson murders.
I became a teacher.
Sometimes when the phone rings,
I think I will hear her voice.

6 comments:

  1. Phew. This is beautiful, poignant but heart aching.

    ReplyDelete
  2. i am that sister... not yours of course,, but to my own sisters i am she... this touched my soul,, as i wonder sometimes if they ever think of me.....

    ReplyDelete
  3. It must be her calling out to you..

    kindred

    ReplyDelete
  4. Being one of three sisters, I know those ties. Luckily for me, we are all close - we don't always agree and no one can make me madder than one of them, but they are very dear to my heart!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Expectation that is half hope and half dread, perhaps. A poignant poem.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Sorry I missed this poem earlier. It was startling in its similarity to my life. My sister, well, she would have done some of the same things and I still listen for her voice on the phone.
    Thank you for visiting my blog, your kind words, and for such a rewarding visit to yours!

    ReplyDelete