Friday, January 6, 2012

Metaphorical Family: Sister

Dear Sister

Out the morning window
of September,
a train horn shivers, and
the sunlit
bricks grid the
dancing verbena,
nodding pink
upon the sill.

In the photo Mom sent
of your daughter diapering
her newest brother, his
arms and eyes make a symbol
“wanting mother”.

When the dandelions blew off their heads
this spring,
your children corralled you in a ring of
cries that echoed
the hollow statue centered in our parents' living
room, in which you shriveled
farther inward,
wrapping around your
unborn son.

The weather is turning
dimmer, fading embers
in falling leaves.
Floating upward in my morning cup
spinning husks of
chrysanthemum bloom.

Despite your inner
the doctors injected you with lightning.
Apparitions arose,
animated your vessel, and
shuddered a wailing son
out the statue's womb that
closed again on you.

You escaped the hospital
last night and floated
above my bed. Cross-legged
in your gown you said,
“Kansas winds rattle
hollow cocoons.”
Then clover petals crawled
out your mouth and eyes,
and wound around you
leafy greenery.


  1. Wow. So good to read this again. I reiterate that hearing you read gives a whole new dimension to it. I really think you write for the ear more than the eye.

    Thank you for this.

  2. I'd been looking forward to reading this. Thanks for sharing.