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.
Phew. This is beautiful, poignant but heart aching.
ReplyDeletei 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.....
ReplyDeleteIt must be her calling out to you..
ReplyDeletekindred
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!
ReplyDeleteExpectation that is half hope and half dread, perhaps. A poignant poem.
ReplyDeleteSorry 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.
ReplyDeleteThank you for visiting my blog, your kind words, and for such a rewarding visit to yours!