USA

cmarie@efn.org 

Lost Sisters 

You stood there in my parents lawn.
Stillness, waiting for human noise.
And the smell, the four of you there.

One of you, like Grace, stood with
one foot off the ground, 
as if three legs could feel the 
vibrations better. 
Brown marble eyes pierce us.
We do not move, the house is still.

Finally another of you comes down
to eat grape leaves,
like a hungry Bacchus
not free to drink the wine.
The leaves are all we have to give.
With gusto you swallow,
but your hunger never ends.

In the house I watch you, captured.
I breathe not, so you will not leave me.
Your statue-like bodies are melded to the land.
Sturdy Woodlings, suddenly 
civilization comes in and you bound 
away like parts of the landscape. 

I run to find you around the storage shed.
One of you is there staring at me. 
Am I the other sister? Can I be her?
I want to follow, but your look 
stops me. 
You bound away quickly as if to stop 
the civil element. 

My father calls me to help
fix the broken technology. 
Inside my sorrow is aching,
and I dream of the next time
I will see you. 

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