Blood Sisters

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A sonnet with a secret.

Submitted: December 22, 2011

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Submitted: December 22, 2011



A pastel flock of childhood friends sips cigarettes and tea,

They drop some names, flings and old flames, (Oh, that was him? Tut, tut!)

And deaths, affairs, and I-don’t-cares (So that was her? The slut!).

Plucked, peeled, and patched, bruised, used and smashed, they swap tragedies like treats.

Love’s white lies stain the cup rims red. He’s quite the bastard, yes?

Mel forgives his attempts, though never content, and Fern lost her wife on Sunday.

Meryl shan’t marry, Cheryl takes sherry, then winds up in bed with Monday.

Their clawed fingers dance, and they look askance—then babble to forget.

Thirty years now, since they dropped that match. They noticed the nights grew longer.

Their soft cheeks grew thin, each slim bone lengthened—

Ignorance’s innocence is all they desire.

Thirty years now, but it was never safe. Their own minds are scaremongers,

Hawking fears and regrets to ward away rest, bringing nightmares without end.

Ashes to ashes, yet sisters remain, thirty years after the fire.

© Copyright 2018 ilassiter. All rights reserved.

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