SK ( / )


My three sisters are sitting
on rocks of black obsidian.
For the first time, in this light, I can see who they are.

My first sister is sewing her costume for the procession.
She is going as the Transparent lady
and all her nerves will be visible.

My second sister is also sewing,
at the seam over her heart which has never healed entirely,
At last, she hopes, this tightness in her chest will ease.

My third sister is gazing
at a dark-red crust spreading westward far out on the sea.
Her stockings are torn but she is beautiful.

User Rating: 4,1 / 5 ( 7 votes ) 5

Comments (5)

I don't understand why this poem didn't rate higher. I love it....but, instead of keeping it to yourself...I'd totally tell him, whether you think he's ready or not. Who on earth wouldn't be ready for such kind words. High marks from me! ! ! ! !
I think this tells it all, lovely poem. Moyaxx
While this brought a flashback of the mid-sixties for me, when I had my first time in the great big USA and everyone was into Rod McKuen, the poem quickly got my attention. Very nicely done. Also the 'bring' out the trash is clever, hinting at your location. H
Sheila....he's ready to hear them...or read them. Share this with him. Check out my 'Gusts of You' - kind of along the same lines...a new relationship...of uncharted territory for me. Hugs....and happy new year.
Delightful Sheila, a lovely read and write. Very meaningful and warm. Love Ernestine XXX