Shared stories of woe,
broken hearts, stubbed toe, family first
Bond beyond breaking.
It is national poetry month, and this is dedicated to my own sister but also to a dear friend who had to say goodbye to her sister today.
©Alison Jean Hankinson.
Handwriting didn’t come easily to me, my words tumbled out across the page as fast as my thoughts would carry them but with no time for neatness clarity or punctuation. Laborious lessons trying to perfect a precise clear-cut style between the lines, the endless lines, my sister’s handwriting remains the same as it was in those joined up lessons at school. Mine still resembles ducklings charging towards some azure blue lake with all the joy of momentum, joy and not a care in the world for how it looks to the rest of the world.
Her last letter, heaven only knows why she posted the parcels so early for Christmas, perhaps she knew. Her last act of love. She died on the Sunday half a world away and by Friday I held her last letter in my hand. Her writing cut through the void, the years the tears, the fears.
Precision and care
Her words carefully planted.
Snowdrops cut through snow.
©Alison Jean Hankinson