Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The Sisters (poem)
.
The Sisters
For some reason,
I don’t want
to talk about it.
The names,
The settings.
Precisely what happened.
It is as if
I got disconnected from myself,
separated into two parts
like a severed rope,
each perfectly functional
in itself,
but never quite meeting,
or twins who ignore each other.
One was (at times)
the sobbing sister inside,
crying for her lost
eden,
looking for another savior.
She was the one
left out at the party,
cast ashore
when the others went sailing
off to celebrate
and enjoy the holiday feast.
But she never shared her story.
Its disgrace.
The little cuts
and bruises.
The other was the happy one,
the one who found treasure
everywhere she looked,
giddy with delight,
talk of mating with angels.
The Sisters
For some reason,
I don’t want
to talk about it.
The names,
The settings.
Precisely what happened.
It is as if
I got disconnected from myself,
separated into two parts
like a severed rope,
each perfectly functional
in itself,
but never quite meeting,
or twins who ignore each other.
One was (at times)
the sobbing sister inside,
crying for her lost
eden,
looking for another savior.
She was the one
left out at the party,
cast ashore
when the others went sailing
off to celebrate
and enjoy the holiday feast.
But she never shared her story.
Its disgrace.
The little cuts
and bruises.
The other was the happy one,
the one who found treasure
everywhere she looked,
giddy with delight,
talk of mating with angels.
And she did.
She met them
and she opened her arms
and what happened next
she told
again and again
She met them
and she opened her arms
and what happened next
she told
again and again
in many different
versions.
Dorothy Walters
November 18, 2008
Dorothy Walters
November 18, 2008
(Image from Gustave Dore's illustration for Dante's Divine Comedy) (Paradiso)
