The Fragility of Memory
She and I, sisters
of a common skin.
We charted and deconstructed
our childhood
like avenging angels.
Episodes of bitter dullness
and beaten love.
We organised those memories
into tidiness. Displayed them
like moths, wings pinned to
dry — crisp and fragile.
She swore never to forget,
and she cursed me
when I eventually did.
dVerse explores poetic arrangment
It’s not an easy relationship…
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Ouch. I JUST commented on Crystal’s poem about the fact that, when my sister was dying of pancreatic cancer and we revisited memories we had such different versions of the same things. Memory doesn’t want to be catalogued I suppose. We adapt them to our needs.
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Yes, we absolutely do adapt them, and some people can move on from them, and others just can’t.
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I have lived this poem….still do.
It is puzzling when two different recollections of childhood exist and/or the ability to move on. It has to be frustrating for those that can’t to watch those that can.
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They feel betrayed, I think.
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Real, raw and poignant. Evokes a powerful picture of sibling and family relationships and how we get pinned to the roles we are assigned.
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It's Still Life 
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