MY SISTER'S BONES
                  Susanne Long, 1946 -1986

How we carry the dead with us,
day in, day out, dusting pale
photos, peering into pale eyes.
How strong is our love for her
who is gone, but here in this blue
teapot, in this Chagall postcard
written in her hand, I can still touch.
How we did collapse, girls giggling
over growing old, disintegrating 
to think of our smooth selves
all crinkled and bone-bent.
How serene is her pale beauty
peering out at 40, the year
she turned herself to dust,
to ash and white bones.

copyright2001Priscilla Long

Priscilla
Long