Read introduction

10 April is NATIONAL SIBLINGS DAY :

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siblings_Day
http://www.holidayinsights.com/moreholidays/April/siblingday.htm

Although the day was founded in the US, it has now spread to other countries like India and Australia.

According to Holiday Insights, the recipe for this day is Susan’s Chocolate Brownies :
http://www.holidayinsights.com/recipes/chocolatebrownies.htm

Whip up a batch to share with your siblings … and listen to “Eua'On'Ome” by Mexican composer Julio Estrada (who was born 10 April 1943) :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Oth7NPOU3g

My poetic offering to you all today:

VOIDS

L_caputoby Lorraine Caputo11 Apr 2017

VOIDS
—a multivoice poem

The clocks tick
filling the quiet void
Time passes in this house
each clock
each few steps
reflects its own time

My brother walks into the room,
pulling his coat on.
Come on, sis
He says
We’re taking you home
He stands next to a picture,
looking very much
like our father’s brother.

What
I say
You mean I don’t get
to have that
heart-to-heart,
sister-to-sister talk?
I sit next to a picture,
looking very much like
our father’s mother.

My sister pulls her wrap on,
turning her face
away from us
If it’s what I think it’s about,
she says
Then I don’t want to hear
anything about it.
She stands next to a mirror,
her face reflecting our colorings.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time

I think you guys are trying
to brainwash me.
She brushes her dark hair
with a plump hand.
I will believe what
I want to believe.

What you believe
is not the reality.
I look at my dark braid
trailing across my arm.
Your belief
is not the truth.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time

William is my father.
Standing by the door,
she pulls her gloves on.
That is what I believe.

I walk over to her,
bending over. hissing to her.
How could William be your father
when he left
the year after I was born?


The clocks tick
each passing its own time
One strikes three-quarters of an hour

Why don’t you go ask Joseph?
My arm stretches towards the living room
where our father sits
reading the paper,
rubbing his aging eyes.
She does not answer.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time

It doesn’t matter
who my father is.
She walks to the sink,
mixes a drink and
lifts it to her
olive-skinned face.
I am going to believe
what I’ve been told
for 24 years.
You don’t expect me
to change my mind now.

You were never told
William was your father.
My olive-skinned face
turns towards her.
I know that.
No-one ever told you
that lie.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time
Another strikes three-quarters of an hour

Well, I can say Joseph
Has been like a father to me
Since when I remember,
since I was six.
She swipes imaginary
flecks off her breasts,
plump with youth.
I can admit that.

Joseph is your father.
My breasts, sagging with age,
heave with frustrated breaths.
That is the reality you must face.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time

Come on, sis.
Our brother appears near the door,
smiling mischievously,
pulling his gloves on.
Let’s go now.

The clocks tick
each passing its own time
A third strikes three-quarters of an hour

Our sister puts her glass down,
walks hurriedly to the door,
her face a mix of
stubborn disbelief
and relief.

We shall have to continue
this discussion
I tell her
You cannot deny
what you truly are.

She pulls the door
quietly behind her.

I shake my head,
amused,
frustrated.

The clocks tick
filling the once-more quiet void
Time passes in this house
changing our memories and beliefs
Each clock
Each step
reflects its own reality

published in:
DoveTales: An International Journal of the Arts, a publication of Writing for Peace
http://writingforpeace.org/introducing-dovetales-family-cultural-identity