It is a day for remembering and honouring those who are now among the ancestors, but vibrantly live in our memory. These are my motherlines’ women.
Sister Night, Sister Day
Her sister was much more fair
with sunlight in her hair,
her eyes the colour of sky,
stick skinny. Who knows why?
It happens in families,
how two such thick allies,
so unlike, could be conflated,
one an unexposed plate
in Dad's studio dark room.
the other a full bloom.
Night and day. The dark-haired one,
in her heart, had the sun,
laughed easily, looked for, found
fun. Summertime beach browned
her a ripe olive, her eyes
dark berried, kind and wise.
Sister was home and mother
to sister, my mother.
For so many years neither
time or distance broke their
bond of love and devotion,
sibling consolation,
that on this date, Night's birthday.
Sister Day passed away.
Sister Yang and Sister Yin
circle complete, kith and kin.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved
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What a lovely tribute to them, Bee… and what a gorgeous photograph.
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So lovely and poignant, this poem. I love it. And what a wonderful photograph!
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