Sisters by Alvy Carragher
it is nine pm in Johannesburg
there is a clear sky in her eye
the scatter of city lights and
bag-pipes sounding up the road
she sits cross legged
hanging onto stars and promises
on a window ledge high enough
that nobody can touch her
it is seven pm in Tipperary
the bite of frost in her mouth
the whisper of country lights
rusty barns creak into the night
she runs breathless
counting telephone poles
the stretch of time and land
spread thin beneath her feet
it is six am in Sydney
the tang of salt water in her nose
the beat of days beginning
and her arms churn to catch it
she maps ways to find love
thinks nothing of drowning
out the slosh of seaweed
and hope beneath her
it is eight pm in Nice
the sun set slowly in her eyes
its been gone now sometime
but she still sings it sad songs
strapped to her ukulele
she strums anything other
than the tears that threaten
to take her over
they palm words lettered to each other
find belonging in postage stamps
and days spent drifting
through hands of strangers