I’ve been lax in posting since the River of Stones project finished at the end of January. This poem is about my sisters, all seven of them. Perhaps it should more correctly have been titled Eight Sisters since there are eight of us. I often find myself standing to one side and watching them, thinking about how time has changed them–and me. I know I am blessed to have them as sisters, and wanted to honor that relationship with this poem.
Deep lines etch my sisters’ faces,
Lines of laughter, lines from tears.
In their voices ring the memories of our childhood,
singing in the dusty yard
while in the kitchen our mother in her apron
cooked the evening meal.
How could we know
that we would be the gray-haired women in the kitchen,
wearing aprons and trying to remember
the recipe for fruitcake and what our mother told us
About the kind of wine to use
To preserve its sweetness?