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©2016-2018 by Pat Durmon, Poet. Proudly created with Wix.com

Sisters

April 17, 2017

Are there rules for a blog? I don’t know. If rigid rules exist, I’m probably breaking one right here and now. (Are there blog police? Am I headed for jail?) I’m at my sister’s house where the yardman is trying to take advantage, a toilet is out of order, and the UPS man stops every day with a package of exotic perennials. New house and things are out of sorts, broken, or needing to be put into a pot. Hard work to keep my mouth shut and just flow in her world, whether we talk recipes, medicines, or tax deadlines.

 

            Sisters

 

“Well if you want to come, you can.”

“Okay. I’m coming tomorrow.

I’ll stay three days, two nights.”

“Can you stay long enough

to go with me to this new doctor?”

“Yes, I want to do that.”

 

Like our mother, she asks

the exact hour I’ll arrive.

 

She’d revealed plenty:

nothing in the house to eat,

can’t sleep, migraines, has not left

the house in three long weeks.

Clad in pajamas, she opens

the front door. I unload my bag,

meatloaf, milk, bread, eggs,

vegetables. She announces

she’ll bake a pumpkin pie.

 

That evening I listen to

the deathbed story

of her daughter’s last days,

how my niece called Hope

had thrown her right arm up high

at the end, saying her last words,

“Heaven! Heaven!”

 

~ Pat Durmon, April 12, 2017

 

The Lord works in mysterious ways: this may have been the sweetest visit we’ve ever had. Much obliged to Prayer Warriors. God hears our prayers.

 

Blessings, 

 

Pat Durmon

 

P. S. – Gratitude to those who have signed up to read my blog. To comment, scroll down below.

Photo by Pat Durmon of a quote stitched on a small pillow (given to Pat from her sister two decades ago), April 13, 2017.

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