Desert Sisters, a poem by Michael Ball at Spillwords.com

Desert Sisters

Desert Sisters

written by: Michael Ball

@whirred

 

Aging sisters have taught us each
to believe “We’re all adults here.”
Literally true, that reality does not
make us kind or entirely rational.

Once, they were two West Virginia girls
sharing one bedroom and a single
mirrored dresser with one kneehole.
Then, they acted sibling scripts —
one a tomboy, one a homebody.
Now one is creased. One has fat folds.

Their whole nest moved 2,000 miles
and into a high-desert adobe abode.
Paired as lasses, yoked again as matrons,
the vast space between then and now fills
with people, events, things, rituals,
infirmities, visitors and sororal joking.

In their humble blond-mud house,
each now has her own bedroom, and
even her own mirrored dresser. Adults
earn their joys, if they live long enough.

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