Good old senior siblings, hey cara?
No crit to offer, enjoyed the read.
Cheers,
Frank
> Siblings
>--
> Adult stuff is going on indoors.
> Sent out to play,
> we cleave to the back step;
> pick at blisters in paint,
> scabs on knees.
>
> I cry.
>
> I could have reason:
> the night vigils have ceased;
> the knee I used to climb onto
> has straightened
> into its final pose.
>
> I am four.
>
> I do not know about death.
> Even Tammy, my imagined dog,
> hero of legendary encounters,
> has never ventured
> close to a grave.
>
> My sister frowns.
>
> Scorn arches her nose and lip,
> flares her beauty.
> Four years my senior
> she will always
> shake me off, outrun me.
>
> 'Why are you crying?'
>
> She leans on the 'you',.
> goes on to say
> 'It's none of your concern:
> after all it's down to Mum
> whose Dad has gone'.
>
> I stop.
>
> I'd wanted to cry like Mum.
> Instead I'm shamed,
> shot through with 'hypocrisy',
> though neither of us
> know that name.
>
> Dry-eyed, stubborn, alone,
> I pick at scabs on paint.
>
>
>
> cara decenber 2001
>
>
>
>
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The Tales of Faust poetry page can be found at:
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