My sisters don’t look like me

They are sharper

With brighter, yellowed skin

Both look strong and solidly

Inside their bodies

With large brown eyes

Serving to illuminate their clear

Beautiful faces

 

I run together

Dark skin

Nothing hidden

With densely thick hair

Nearly black eyes bridging

The narrow gap in it

And my face scarcely shines

As my brooding manifests itself

In the weary sag of eyes,

Face, back, hips and knees

Atlas’ burden pressing upon me

 

My sisters love joy

They relish and seek it out

Once sought, it loves to be found

For me it’s too much to ask

Which is fine

Because joy doesn’t fit on my face

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

• Poetry