For just a short time, we were sisters again
Sharing the same room.
It wasn't our old bedroom with the blue flowered
Curtains and matching bedspreads.
It didn't have the poster of the Beatles over her bed.
It was a hospital room where we slept
next to each other, holding hands through
The raised bedrails.
We talked of old times and of water flowing under bridges.
There were black and white pictures made new with her remembrance of color.
My big sister, the pretty one, with little hands.
Hands of strength once, hands of skill and grace.
God numbers all of our days, even for those
Who don't acknowledge Him. It was her time;
My mother, my sister, I miss her so much.