I felt pulled to start a poetry series the past several weeks; this announcement coincides with International Women’s Day, a delightful happenstance. We’re calling it the Sister Series, a sequence of poems created with several particular women in mind. These are poems that swiftly sweep past the surface of their skin and swing deep into the beauty that dwells within their souls.
The introductory poem to this series is one I initially read aloud around a year ago. I’m proud to introduce the Sister Series with this piece, one which encapsulates my true birth-sisters, wrapped together within a single work.
Jacquelyn Raquel Elizabeth
by Regan Smith
(poem also known as Sisters)
Baby blue stitches,
little crossed threads creating denim patterns;
though fading in the elbows.
She paints oranges, develops photos of her sisters,
and captures footage of the Cinquefoil flowers.
She wraps her arms around her brothers,
and laughs loudly;
honeydew hope is held in her eyes.
On a basking blanket between two Cottonwood trees,
with a short story collection between her palms,
her face begins to freckle—
beneath her full eyebrows,
and on her soft shoulders.
She is in the wind, and will grow weary,
belly swells as baby grows—
resting her spine on the bed,
as she pulls splinters from her fingers.
Gray strands emerge from her scalp,
woven throughout her cocoa curls;
it holds the air of the forest,
and unravels beneath streams of warm water.
A lively life looms,
indigenous to encouragement.
Her heart is held,
familiar to a full mind—
but not foreign to today.
I think she understates,
how many good traits she received from her mother;
how they both speak with words that break the bones of death,
and shift tides with a whisper.