Sistership.
Two strokes past midnight and your smile appears
to help me remember those decades ago when we
wrote naughty messages with invisible ink, became
torch-authors of stories after lights out then gained
points if we scribbled good dramas despite bed time.
We pledged by strict ritual to keep secret reminders
and when troubles beset us to stand and be counted
in defence of close sistership, lie each for each about
when who what and where, vowed in lemonade toasts
and citrus drops that staying together meant the most.
When time came for parting us sisters went two ways
one into nursing the other performing roles on a stage
yet when lonely we phoned and as homesickness struck
both shoulders were cried on as our dreams came undone
Care coloured your generous heart and jokes not forgotten
when go-between notes on romances got welcomed, or lost.
Loving yellow with lots of citron posters you glowed
and your golden-curled portrait now gilds my sorrow.
Still stored in folders our treasured poems and letters
know since you went, every memory smells of lemons.