Two...my Sisters....

I have two sisters, who never made it out of war of my childhood...they are POWs in my mother's camp.  At one point, in my life, it was a bitter and terrifying choice...join or leave.  I chose to live or at least try to live; so I left.  My two sisters joined.  There is very little that I actively pray for, not being a very religious person, but I do pray for them.  I don't who is listening...but, if I can't be there for them...I pray that someone is....

Over  a decade ago, I saw them for the last time.  My middle sister had lost her ethereal beauty and her mouth was twisted from bitterness...angry because I had left and angry because she had stayed.  And, my youngest sister, broken and withdrawn, looked twelve, at the age of 30.

Among the many ironies that have existed in my life, the greatest was that I had envied my sisters for their strength, when we were young.  I had always felt that all I had to offer was my physical strength, and, so, I stood between them and the horrors that lived with us.  I knew that I would survive....my anger alone would keep me alive and they represented all that was good and pure...I believed that I would be neither of those things, on the other side of the battle.  I believed that I didn't matter, but they did, and my purpose in living was to protect them.  So, I did.

Years after I left, I came back for them and I left again...alone...again.  They will not speak with me, and it is quite probable that I will go to my grave never seeing or hearing from them.  If that were to change...if they were to call for me...I would don my armor and charge in to bring them to safety.  I know that will never happen, but I will wait regardless.

I wrote for this poem...a long time ago....for us...for them...two...my sisters....

No One

Far away, they said, a war was fought

In a damp, dark jungle..where

No one slept-

It crawled through our boxed vision

And festered in my fresh mind

No one knew-

A long-toothed beast, yawned open jaws

And lured me to tumble into a sloping dungeon

No one entered-

White house, swamp filled, steaming

Rot, served stewed pain over plump rice

No one swallowed-

Two bedroom prison for beaten captives

One for the old and the innocent, one for the dying young

No one watched-

An amber vision, honey-haired sister 

Silenced by fate, voiceless to what

No one spoke-

Of blistering sand, boxed in decaying wood

A deserted desert where

No one lived-

Except tiny bronzed soldiers, scattered in wait

Pinching our prayers and stabbing with poisoned words

No one heard-

Save, the glorious angel with sworded hand

Crowned curls of citron and emerald eyes

No one challenged-

Her beckoning, pearled hand 

Across the road of roar, far, from the jungle of rage

No one left. 

--My sisters, if you can hear me, I am still here and I always will be....I am strong....I will wait.