on 15/3/02 3:47 pm, cara may at [log in to unmask] wrote:


A touching poem, Cara.
Not sure about the lone line at the end, perhaps it should go with the third
stanza if it isn't going to start another stanza.
Sally ee

> The Three Sisters
>
>
>
> They come on Sundays now,
> touch their long dark hair into place
> as they slide out of the emerald Clio,
> wave, blow kisses, to their mother,
> dance down the steps into the hill-side house
> where once they played, and wept, and grew.
>
> Today the old car bucks and whirrs
> at the intricacies of turning-spaces
> as its driver mimes a greeting
> to a social-worker, neighbour,
> who stays a moment on her doorstep,
> thinks 'Perhaps a conversation...'
>
>
> Others notice through their windows,
> remember how they miss the siblings,
> wonder what the mother does
> while the daughters are indulged and feted
> by their father and the dark-haired girl-friend
> who joined him from the on-line chat-room
>
> after his family had moved out.
>
>
> cara                                  march 2002
>
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