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LAce Posted Monday, September 11th, 2006
My Sister
Denise Kincy

While scrubbing and packing,
I think of my sister,
I am moving. Two years in this house,
never have I cleaned behind the cook stove.
Penny would cringe.

In their personal hamlet under the bed
dust bunnies run a thriving motel.
Dark fingerprints surround all the light switches.
Dirt considers clinging to my sisterís table,
and is instantly obliterated.
I have seen her on hands and knees,
scrubbing between the cracks of her beautiful tiles with a toothbrush.

Decorating my new place,
I think of my sister.
Arranging my hodge podge of garage sale treasures
cherished nick nacks, the monstrous,
gold, half-priced mirror I found at Hobby Lobby

Penny has a magic formula
for design, each item
strategically centered,
understated and elegant.

My sister is GQ,
I am thrift store.
I hate to travel,
She hits the road
at a momentís notice.
Penny is afraid of bad weather,
I love thunderstorms
rain like living sheets of glass.

Raised together
hearts broken
in the same fashion,
obsessive compulsiveness
the same, yet different.

When my sister reads this,
Her laughter will fill the room as I cry.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Linda Gallant Potts [ gallantpotts@yahoo.ca ] on Monday, September 11th, 2006 at 1:20 PM
It's nice to see a familiar name pop up Denise! This is lovely work. I enjoyed the contrast between the two sisters and the way each has chosen to deal with life. Perfectionism can mask a lot of issues, and in its own way is much scarier than pain which is out in the open.

Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Monday, September 11th, 2006 at 7:52 PM
I can relate. I have a brother and sister-in-law who turn every place they live into eclectic delights. Everything they buy has the perfect place. My brother once said to me, if you add even one piece, it changes the balance of a room. I looked around at my clutter and laughed. Still, they are an inspiration for me. Good poem. Nonnie Augustine

Posted by Donia Carey on Wednesday, September 13th, 2006 at 9:04 AM
Good poem, Denise. I love the dust bunnies "in their personal hamlet under the bed" and the "rain like living sheets of glass." The paragraph beginning "Raised together..." gives context to the path each sister chose. The road diverges, yet they remain somehow on the same path.

Posted by Phyllis Link on Friday, September 15th, 2006 at 11:17 PM
Very nice, Denise. You've portrayed the differences so well. Somehow it's comforting to know such differences can exist without damaging the harmony of the heart.

Posted by Norma Trent on Monday, October 9th, 2006 at 6:12 PM
You must have been in my sister's house!! This is such a true slice of life. If my sister ever has to move, they will need 4 semis to just move everything in her living room!! Thanks for the read.



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