In a message dated 3/15/02 7:47:38 AM, [log in to unmask] writes:
<< 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. [beautiful stanza with
the word order nicely placed...I like the pronoun that refers the reader back
to the title.
Today the old car bucks and whirrs [lovely vignette in verse]
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, [I think you should repeat
sisters here]
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 [ouch!]
after his family had moved out. [wonder if you need this line?]
cara march 2002 >>
kol tuv, Ryfkah
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