The North Sisters

I dreamt last night

of the North sisters.

Three elderly spinsters

who lived next door

to my childhood home.

So kind and warm,

they never judged,

and you were always

welcome in

for tea, biscuits and cake.

Every Christmas,

they would bake us a cake

so full of fruit and Guinness,

so laden in marzipan,

royal icing,

reindeer and robins,

that they could scarcely

carry it in.

And we never ate it -

hated it.

First world brats!

My parents - too embarrassed

to ask them to stop,

would dutifully throw away the cake

every Easter.

How crazy that sounds to me now!

Last night I dreamed of them,

all three,

Kay, Sheila and Una,

smiling in their front garden,

warm in the technicolor sun,

and I awoke with a start -

- suddenly chilled

by the vastness of time.

They will be long dead now -

their smells of home-baking,

petty confidences,

the fog of cigarettes,

dulcid piano playing,

the rattle of bone china,

the distant grandfather clock

tugging on my ancient soul.

They were so kind,

in that misty long ago -

their kindness clearly its own reward.

Reviews

[John]

Literature tends not to be kind to elderly sisters living together, the three witches in Macbeth come to mind. The poem treats them well, however. They are the kind of friendly, generous neighbours I remember from my own childhood in Ireland. And yet, there is that cake your family refused to eat and the dream of them smiling in the garden, which has a disconcerting edge, and probably accounts for the nightmare from which you awake in a cold sweat. I think the poem gets its strength from the suggestion (although this may only be my reading) of something discomfiting about these neighbours. Had they been demonised or treated with suspicion it mightn't have worked nearly so well.

[C.R.Turner]

I would think the source of the dream is more to do with my own particular fixation on the past, and that house I grew up in. I have recurring dreams about the time I lived there. I think the reason for this is the fact that I emigrated when I was 17, and the house was sold while I was away. This meant, symbolically, I never got to leave the house for the 'last' time.

The three sisters were delightful, as described. No hidden cauldrons under the stairs or broomsticks in the driveway. :)

Thanks for taking the time John!

[Deron Alexis]

very nice rhyme and rhythm also a good story we never know what we have till its gone

[C.R.Turner]

Thanks Deron!

[Lover Of Words]

Love this! Nicely done

[C.R.Turner]

Thanks for reading KB! Human kindness is still alive and kicking, I'm happy to report! :)

[Lover Of Words]

good to know lol Your welcome