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Sisterhood



My childhood is a quilt of memories

Of playing house beneath school ground trees,

Ribbons, makeup, perfect curls.

Tea parties, teddy bears, the dreams of girls.



Secret midnight sister meetings

Prone to giggles of silly greetings.

Never once leaving my side

Even when not invited for the ride.



Fights, and friends, and tears of school,

Birthdays, hand-me-downs, and boys that made us drool

We shared them all in whispers

of a language only known amongst sisters.



Years and life have brought us to a separate place.

But who would be who without roots to trace?

It seems we talk less and less

And I do miss her, I must confess.



But even on the hurried phone calls

I hear the whispers of two little girls playing dolls.

Of hours spent rolling in the grass,

Well hidden funny faces during church mass.



And I imagine there will come a day

When we will run out of little girl things to say.

A time to face the world as mothers and wives

With new ambitions and hopes in our lives.



But there will always be secret whispers

Of a language only known by us sisters.

And though life has brought us to a separate place

Who would be who without roots to trace?