A Matter of Priorities...

I still resent the way

your final months prior to confinement

Did not include me.

The precious people you chose

to share your precious time with,

were other folk.

People you paid to help you.

Not for you my humble offering

of laughter and sisterly love.

Kineasiologists, buddhists, oncologists

and charlatans

were your lunch dates.

You drove past my door

to give them your money -

to pay them to lie to you.

Did they expect payment

for attending your funeral too?

Were they absent

Because they were unsure

Where they should send their invoice?

Or that perhaps someone

may request a refund?

Relentless Memories

There's a red enamel jug filled with jonquils

this book I'm writing in right now

the painting hanging over my fireplace

oil lamps on my mantlepiece

photos of us together, laughing, on my piano

your christmas gift - a lemon tree - in my garden

your daughter's voice to me on the phone

your recipes in my book

your letters on my laptop

your books in my library

your candlesticks on my table

your face on your daughter

How will i ever compose myself

Now that you're gone?

Sisters

'We were like a flock of birds with the same soul, wearing the same feathers...'

A Letter to Jenni

The full moon rose last night.

The first one since you left us.

The first time you were not here to greet her

in 55 years.

When you rode away on her back -

Where did she take you?

Where did you dismount her silvery spine

And, luggage free,

Begin your spiral dance

among the stars?

Eulogy for my sister

These are the things I'm going to miss about my sister.

Laughing. Not normal laughing.

Heart-stopping, gut-aching, eyes- streaming laughing.

About something nobody else finds funny.

Triggered by nothing more than a look or a word.

Often late at night, over the phone.

It's a sister thing.

Selfishly - having a witness to my life.

To call her, recount an incident from our past,

and know she was there - to confirm my reality.

I didn't make it up.

To be on my side.

Ocean swimming, naked. In the winter, at daybreak.

Exchanging looks at the mutual sight of a baby

without socks or a hat.

Or being bottle fed.

The way she spoke to dogs in the street.

Being grandmothers together.

Her magnificent Christmas fruit cakes.

The way she fought for me.

Put people in their place who questioned my choices in life.

Her fierce loyalty for things and people she loved.

She'll always be with me.

We were cut from the same cloth.

Sculpted from the same block of marble.

Cradled in the same womb.

I'll remember her always

when I eat a ripe fig

pat a cute dog

or see a brown chook.

Requiem for my sister, Jenni Overend

My sister passed away last full moon. She said she would. Said she'd fly away on the back of the full moon. These are the words she lived by.

'Conventional knowledge is death to our souls

and it is not really ours.

We must become ignorant of what we've been taught,

and be, instead, bewildered.

Run from what's profitable and comfortable.

If you drink those liqueurs,

you'll spill the spring water of your real life.

Forget safety. Live where you fear to live.

Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.

I have tried prudent planning long enough.

From now on, I'll be mad.' Rumi