<<<~~~>>>
You were my first
compasses of certitude
in a world whose landscape
was always colored in black and white.
I looked to you for
reason and reassurance
when my being was too constrained by
proper etiquette and dictated rules
always followed, but never really understood:
white-gloved niceties and
tightly girdled constraints
unerringly obeyed among a litany
of cerulean rosary beads
and mortal sin repercussions.
Yet, somewhere, somehow,
along this passage of perfection,
our paths diverged, changing course.
Individual differences emerged:
temperaments collided,
communication disintegrated,
honesty imploded,
into sullen, secretive silence.
You and I
were no longer
We.
Still, I hear the echoing laughter of regret
when memory pays me a visit
bearing a kaleidoscope
of Christmas pine-scented boughs,
summer's wide open meadows,
or magical midnight stories told under a canopy
of Amish quilted comforters piled high
in a make-believe ship that was always headed
due north and beyond, sailing high
upon a starlit sky of imaginative wonder,
and lovingly guided by compasses
of unwavering sisterly certitude…
<<<~~~>>>
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