THE SISTERS

by: Mary Aldis

E four

Live here together

My three old sisters and I

In a white little cottage

With flowers on each side of the path up to the door.

It is here we eat together

At eight, one and seven

All the year round,

It is here we sew together

On garments for the Church sewing society

Here,--behind our fresh white dimity curtains

That I'll soon have to do up and darn again.

It is this cottage we mean

When we use the word Home

Is it not here we lie down and sleep

Each night all near together?

 

We never meet

My three old sisters and I.

We never look into each others' eyes

We never look into each others' souls

Or if we do for a moment

We quickly begin to talk about the jam

How much sugar to put in and when.

We run away and hide like mice before the light

We are afraid to look into each others' souls

So we keep on sewing, sewing.

 

My three old sisters are old

Very old.

It is not such a great while since they were born

Yet they are old.

I think it is because they will not look and see.

I am not old

But pretty soon I will be.

I was thinking of that when I went to him

Where he was waiting.

 

My sisters had been talking together all the long afternoon

While I sat sewing and silent,

Clacking, clacking away while the lilac scent came in at the window

And the branches beckoned and sighed.

This is what they said--

"How did that paper come into our house?"

"Fit to be burnt, don't you think?"

Then the third, "It's a shameless sheet

To print such a sensual thing."

The paper lay on the table there, between my three sisters

With my poem in it,--

My small happy poem without any name.

I had been with him when I wrote it and I wanted him again

The words arose in my heart clamouring for birth--

And there they were, between my three sisters.

Each read it in turn

Holding the paper far off with the tips of her fingers.

Then they hustled it into the fire

Giving it an extra poke with the tongs, a vicious poke.

Then each sister settled back to her sewing

With a satisfied air.

I looked at them and I wondered.

I looked at each one,

And I went to him that night--

Where he was waiting.

 

My three old sisters are dying

Though they do not know it.

They are not dying serenely

After life is over

They are just getting dryer and dryer

And sharper and sharper

Soon there will not be any more of them at all.

 

I am not like them

I cannot be

For I have a reason for living.

While they were pricking their little pale odourless blossoms

I gathered my great red flower

And oh I am glad glad,

For now when the time comes I can die serenely,

I can die after living.

 

But first what is to come?

I am going to give my three old sisters a shock

Then what a rumpus there will be!

They will upbraid and reproach

And then they will whisper to each other, nodding slowly and sadly

Telling each other it is not theirs to judge.

So they will become kind and pitiful

Affirming that I am their sister

And that they will stick by and see me through.

But underneath they will be touching me with the lifted tips of their fingers.

They would like to hustle me into the fire

With an extra poke of the tongs.

 

Perhaps I will pretend to hang my head,

Perhaps I will to please them,

I am very obliging--

But in my heart I shall be laughing with a great laughter

A great exaltation.

Yes they will upbraid and reproach

In grave and sisterly accents

And mourn over me,

One who has fallen,

Yet I suspect

As each one goes to her cold little room,

Deep in her breast she will envy

With a terrible envy

The child that is mine

And the night

The curious night

When the sun and the moon and the stars

Bent down

And gave me their secrets.

• Mary Aldis: Bibliography - A selected bibliography of the works of Mary Aldis.
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