A (Rhyming) Metaphor

By Shelly Moore

Four sisters with hair that waved like the tides, were parted when both of their parents had died.

One went to the ocean to live on a boat, with a family of three and their family goat.

She learned how to fish and live off the sea, and wondered what came of her sisters three.

The eldest grew up in an apartment downtown, where she learned the ways of the streets and never backed down.

The baby was raised by a family of six, who’s father was an important figure in politics.

The mother was addicted to pain pills and coke, and often locked her in a dark closet as a cruel joke.

The other lived in a hippie commune, with a guy who played banjo and his life partner, June.

She learned how to tend gardens and talk to the trees; she could play a mean fiddle and get honey from bees.

When they had all grown and gray hair filled their heads, they prayed to find one another before any were dead.

The daughter of the sister who was raised on the ocean, was the first of them to set the wheels into motion.

She called a P.I. who found them one by one, and it only took a short time before the reunion had come.

A year down the road they were contacted by, a lawyer who said their great aunt had died.

He told of a fortune they’d each soon inherit, and they began to argue over how they would share it.

The lawyer divided the sum into four equal parts, and kept what was leftover under the guise of a donation to the arts.

The eldest bought herself a penthouse in her home city, with a pool and a hot tub and a girlfriend named Kitty.

The youngest spent most of her money on hard drugs and liquor; self-medicating and fucking her path to death quicker.

The seafaring sister bought a small house on four acres, she adopted four children and married a baker.

The fiddler sister who was raised by the tree-hugging hosts, gave away most of it to those who needed it most.

No one way was good while the other was bad, in each of the four separate lives that were had.

We’re products of nature and of nurture too, and our childhood shapes and molds how life’s choices are viewed.

(Taken from the author’s personal Facebook page.)

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