Dear Cara,
I found the narrative very confusing. I presume the woman left
the man to live with someone else, (or surely, with 3 children, she would
have kept the family house?) and now she just brings the girls back for
visits on Sundays?
I couldn't work out what I was supposed to make of this, or what the
social worker or the neighbout had to do with it, so at the end of the poem,
I just felt uninvolved and up in the air. I didn't feel I'd learnt much
about anyone in the poem.
Kind regards,
grasshopper
> > 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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