Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SISTERS, by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS First Line: We four / live here together Last Line: And gave me their secrets. Subject(s): Life; Love; Sisters | ||||||||
We four Live here together My three old sisters and I In a white little cottage With flowers on each side of the path up to the door. It is here we eat together At eight, one and seven All the year round, It is here we sew together On garments for the Church sewing society Here, -- behind our fresh white dimity curtains That I'll soon have to do up and darn again. It is this cottage we mean When we use the word Home Is it not here we lie down and sleep Each night all near together? We never meet My three old sisters and I. We never look into each others' eyes We never look into each others' souls Or if we do for a moment We quickly begin to talk about the jam How much sugar to put in and when. We run away and hide like mice before the light We are afraid to look into each others' souls So we keep on sewing, sewing. My three old sisters are old Very old. It is not such a great while since they were born Yet they are old. I think it is because they will not look and see. I am not old But pretty soon I will be. I was thinking of that when I went to him Where he was waiting. My sisters had been talking together all the long afternoon While I sat sewing and silent, Clacking, clacking away while the lilac scent came in at the window And the branches beckoned and sighed. This is what they said -- "How did that paper come into our house?" "Fit to be burnt, don't you think?" Then the third, "It's a shameless sheet To print such a sensual thing." The paper lay on the table there, between my three sisters With my poem in it, -- My small happy poem without any name. I had been with him when I wrote it and I wanted him again The words arose in my heart clamouring for birth -- And there they were, between my three sisters. Each read it in turn Holding the paper far off with the tips of her fingers. Then they hustled it into the fire Giving it an extra poke with the tongs, a vicious poke. Then each sister settled back to her sewing With a satisfied air. I looked at them and I wondered. I looked at each one, And I went to him that night -- Where he was waiting. My three old sisters are dying Though they do not know it. They are not dying serenely After life is over They are just getting dryer and dryer And sharper and sharper Soon there will not be any more of them at all. I am not like them I cannot be For I have a reason for living. While they were picking their little pale odourless blossoms I gathered my great red flower And oh I am glad glad, For now when the time comes I can die serenely, I can die after living. But first what is to come? I am going to give my three old sisters a shock Then what a rumpus there will be! They will upbraid and reproach And then they will whisper to each other, nodding slowly and sadly Telling each other it is not theirs to judge. So they will become kind and pitiful Affirming that I am their sister And that they will stick by and see me through. But underneath they will be touching me with the lifted tips of their fingers. They would like to hustle me into the fire With an extra poke of the tongs. Perhaps I will pretend to hang my head, Perhaps I will to please them, I am very obliging -- But in my heart I shall be laughing with a great laughter A great exaltation. Yes they will upbraid and reproach In grave and sisterly accents And mourn over me, One who has fallen, Yet I suspect As each one goes to her cold little room, Deep in her breast she will envy With a terrible envy The child that is mine And the night The curious night When the sun and the moon and the stars Bent down And gave me their secrets. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN FOR LANIE POO by AMIRI BARAKA CALMING KALI by LUCILLE CLIFTON FAR MEMORY: 1. CONVENT by LUCILLE CLIFTON FAR MEMORY: 4. TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THIS LIFE by LUCILLE CLIFTON FAR MEMORY: 6. KARMA by LUCILLE CLIFTON MY SISTER, THE QUEEN by EDWARD FIELD SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 1. THE HAPPENING by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 2. THE OTHER ONE COMES TO HER by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS |
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