For the Love of Sisters

How did I get to be me?


 The initial press,

from water into air,

the shaking hands,

of a frightened mother,

wanting to love,

never learning how.

The confident hands,

of a troubadour father,

painting love with oils and turpentine,

then turning back to us.



sisters everywhere,

filling in the gaps,

we took what we could,

and invented,

our own kind of love,

simple and kind,

most times,

but always sustaining,

and now,

wherever I go,

I see and feel,

through sister love,

how I came to be,


IMG_6225Painting: Paul D. Ortlip



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