My Talented Sister

      My brothers and sister are truly amazing individuals. Be it in the arts, or education they excel in whatever they do. I followed my sister's footsteps and went to the same boarding arts school she went to. While she attended this boarding arts school she studied creative writing extensively. My sister has attended Ivy league schools, written for governors, and won various writing competitions. Even though she isn't a full time writer she still IS one of the most talented writers I know (I might be bias).

        Despite working the various jobs she's had, she still finds the time to do what she loves. Below are two poems she has allowed me to share with you all. Out of the few she sent me these two are my favorite. I picked these two because they both have serious tones. I joke around with my sister a lot, so seeing such powerful imagery in her writing kind of threw me for a loop. I'm not a big literature buff (my thing is music as you know), but I really enjoyed them. Normally I'd dissect them, but I don't want to say anything that might change your perspective on them. I hope you all enjoy!

Source: (Pexels)

Alma: Prelude at the Shore

Her first boyfriend was her children’s first father.

He had good hair and a good job:

swapped a graveyard shift

for sweat and half-moons

of dirt beneath his fingernails;

diminished and depreciated

his body for a paycheck.

His thick ‘Bama accent sugared his speech,

drew out the sweetness of his scorn.

This first boyfriend, soon-to-be father

slipped her out of her mother’s house,

drove her to the shore where he parked his car,

a sputtering mess of exhaust and steel.

And they watched as the end of the night

melted past the horizon into the sunrise

in the colors she expected: bruised purples,

oranges, and blues; and then she rested,

with her first boyfriend, soon-to-be father.

Source: (Insurance Post)

June 15, 1920Duluth, Wisconsin

It begins with a rope

in a casual knot around

his throat,

and ends with

the stiff stretch of muscles

that extends his neck,

and lifts the side of his face

as if there was something

to see in that burning blue

sky, between the

dark, wet curl

of his eyelash.