Bridge Over Troubled Waters
They all had eyes like sapphires, light and deep, the kind that look right through you, the kind that can see to your soul even if you try to hide it. Some were tall, so very tall; some were short, the shortest, that's where I fit in, down below the smoke with Mary who lives in Mr. Rodger's neiborhood. She's got Irish freckles, and red hair; I think maybe she used to be a fire witch, or maybe she was s'posed to be Pippi Longstocking but mama got the name wrong. She's younger then the eldest, but not by much. Zeneta is tall enough to talk to giants, with muddy hair she keeps dyeing to keep looking honey colored, she went red once, like a skyfire; it was pretty, she didn't look so much like Rudolph then, but I guess she likes the reindeer. Bunny is the dark one, with placid dark hair, almost black; they say I look like her, with my bottle black hair and silver blue eyes, but I don't. I don't look like any of them, 'sept Tad, the frog princess, with a long flicking tongue and honey gold hair to match her tan. And those smoky sapphire eyes, with her six foot Kenner to knock down the trees and an occasional mountain. She taught me not to tell secrets, and to look out for official looking man with greasy features that say they were sent to help. I dot' like them much, not even now. But I don't have to; they don't come around so much any more.
Hmmm... who did I leave out? Oh yes! The youngest older then me, my poor Johnny, he must have felt like snow white and the seven dwarves, growing up with five sisters. He looks like TAD, they both look like me.
It lonely now, my pack of sisters have all gone home, to their homes, they've got homes. They've got babies, and husbands, and the occasional ex-husband. They are tall and thin with black hair at the roots the turns to blond at the ends and soft, gentle, corn blue eyes; or they're short and stout with balding hair and sly grins. They seem to be just what my sister's needed; they seem to be happy, and taken care of. Good, I say! It is grand that they are well looked after, that the children are fed and they sleep at night! What does it matter that I never see them? They are well taken care of. And I have my beloved, that shy, sweet, man child with a long black hair and sugar sweet eyes that are coral reefs when the sun shines through them, and glow green, and sometimes black-purple-blue in the shadows when only I can see his feral boyhood, the wisdom of a wild life young lived, short lived, he lets me into his being, to see what there is to see, and for this I am grateful. I have my sister, my kindred spirit, she is a moon goddess, a princess in rags, with eyes the color of blood three weeks later after it's dried and chipping, like purple in the dark of night when she lights he candles to read the secrets of my life, the secrets I cannot see, I can't hold, the secrets that are too well hidden. They are my salvation, my morning, the sun that rises in the east, the true lovers of my realm; they are the origin of forever. They are here today, and tomorrow, and yesterday, they are within my essence, they are part of me, the better part of me.
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