The day is overcast.
A fine mist hovers
in the air.
Three figures stand
in front of a fresh grave.
The youngest, Elizabeth,
is 3 years old and
doesn’t know what
is happening.
Katherine is crying
uncontrollably. At
13 she understands
they will never
come
back.
Margaret is kneeling,
laying flowers on the
wet dirt. At 15
she is now the head of
the family.
Elizabeth looks at her and asks,
“Where’s mommy?”
Margaret blinks back
tears. She has to be
strong now.
“Where’s mommy?
“Where’s mommy?
Elizabeth shrieks.
Margaret, crying now,
reaches down and
hugs her.
“Shh, Lizzy. Shh.”
Gradually Elizabeth
quiets and the
three leave the
fresh grave in the
old cemetery.
“No Lizzy. You can’t come.”
Elizabeth pouts. Now 9,
she thinks that she
can help in the
factory.
Margaret, 21 now, and
Katherine, 19,
work there making
dresses and skirts
for a wealthier crowd.
Katherine kneels down,
hugs Elizabeth.
“Someone has to stay at home.”
Elizabeth has heard this
every day. She
doesn’t want to
stay at home.
Margaret and Katherine
leave.
Elizabeth goes around
the house cleaning.
Washes the dishes,
sweeps the floors,
makes the bed.
Alarm bells clang.
A fire truck hurtles
past the house.
Elizabeth leans her
head out the window,
curious.
The neighbors are whispering,
“The factory caught on fire.
“The factory caught on fire.”
Elizabeth shuts the
window, head reeling.
The factory.
Margaret and Katherine.
She has to make
Sure they are alright.
Elizabeth runs out the door.
When the building
caught on fire Margaret and
Katherine were not
inside. See? There they are.
Just coming
back from a
quick break.
They see the column of smoke.
They run over and see the factory ablaze.
They stand,
watching. There is
nothing they can
do.
Elizabeth frantically dodges
firemen and people
as she looks for
her sisters.
She hears snippets of
speech,
“Don’t get too close, the building is
“crumbling.”
She hears several people
screaming, but nothing
matters.
Nothing except finding
her sisters.
There they are!
Elizabeth races
toward them.
Margaret and Katherine saw
the stone fall in
slow motion.
They saw Elizabeth
running toward them,
not looking up.
The huge stone
fell down.
Down.
Down.
Margaret screamed.
Maybe she didn’t,
She doesn’t know.
She only knows that
Elizabeth’s bright, brilliant
candle was blown
out that day.
Two solemn figures
stood in the old cemetery
beside an new grave.
The figures leaned
on each other,
looking at the
too small grave
beside the now-old
one.
There was nothing
left. Everything had gone
into the too small
headstone. They couldn’t
even afford a name.
Only a few words.
Our Sister.
Statement of Purpose:
In this extraordinarily long poem I took out several unnesscary words which helped improve the flow.
A fine mist hovers
in the air.
Three figures stand
in front of a fresh grave.
The youngest, Elizabeth,
is 3 years old and
doesn’t know what
is happening.
Katherine is crying
uncontrollably. At
13 she understands
they will never
come
back.
Margaret is kneeling,
laying flowers on the
wet dirt. At 15
she is now the head of
the family.
Elizabeth looks at her and asks,
“Where’s mommy?”
Margaret blinks back
tears. She has to be
strong now.
“Where’s mommy?
“Where’s mommy?
Elizabeth shrieks.
Margaret, crying now,
reaches down and
hugs her.
“Shh, Lizzy. Shh.”
Gradually Elizabeth
quiets and the
three leave the
fresh grave in the
old cemetery.
“No Lizzy. You can’t come.”
Elizabeth pouts. Now 9,
she thinks that she
can help in the
factory.
Margaret, 21 now, and
Katherine, 19,
work there making
dresses and skirts
for a wealthier crowd.
Katherine kneels down,
hugs Elizabeth.
“Someone has to stay at home.”
Elizabeth has heard this
every day. She
doesn’t want to
stay at home.
Margaret and Katherine
leave.
Elizabeth goes around
the house cleaning.
Washes the dishes,
sweeps the floors,
makes the bed.
Alarm bells clang.
A fire truck hurtles
past the house.
Elizabeth leans her
head out the window,
curious.
The neighbors are whispering,
“The factory caught on fire.
“The factory caught on fire.”
Elizabeth shuts the
window, head reeling.
The factory.
Margaret and Katherine.
She has to make
Sure they are alright.
Elizabeth runs out the door.
When the building
caught on fire Margaret and
Katherine were not
inside. See? There they are.
Just coming
back from a
quick break.
They see the column of smoke.
They run over and see the factory ablaze.
They stand,
watching. There is
nothing they can
do.
Elizabeth frantically dodges
firemen and people
as she looks for
her sisters.
She hears snippets of
speech,
“Don’t get too close, the building is
“crumbling.”
She hears several people
screaming, but nothing
matters.
Nothing except finding
her sisters.
There they are!
Elizabeth races
toward them.
Margaret and Katherine saw
the stone fall in
slow motion.
They saw Elizabeth
running toward them,
not looking up.
The huge stone
fell down.
Down.
Down.
Margaret screamed.
Maybe she didn’t,
She doesn’t know.
She only knows that
Elizabeth’s bright, brilliant
candle was blown
out that day.
Two solemn figures
stood in the old cemetery
beside an new grave.
The figures leaned
on each other,
looking at the
too small grave
beside the now-old
one.
There was nothing
left. Everything had gone
into the too small
headstone. They couldn’t
even afford a name.
Only a few words.
Our Sister.
Statement of Purpose:
In this extraordinarily long poem I took out several unnesscary words which helped improve the flow.