Our earliest friends in life, lived in the room across the hall. In my case, the four boys shared a large bedroom with a bunk bed (two up, two down) and we couldn’t have been closer than that. These “friend/brothers/sisters” have stayed with us in some special way. Today, we fete that connection. To our siblings, we dedicate these BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS:


It pains me to leave out-of-mention poems that were obvious labors of love; several with amazing stories behind them. However, my “Bloom” this week is enthusiastically offered to Nancy Posy for her poem simply titled “Sisters.” Nancy begins with “Amy appears in my earliest memory…,” a phrase that introduces and precisely articulates the profound effect a sibling has on our own personal world. Another phrase that grabbed me in its eloquent simplicity is, “whenever we assemble, a full set.” Nancy, you mentioned that you wish you could include a photo. If you would like to send me one, I’d be more than happy to post it here with your well-earned “Beautiful Bloom.”

Nancy Posey and sisters

Nancy Posey and sisters

Sisters (by Nancy Posey)

Amy appears in my earliest memory—
at least the idea of her—as I sit,
in the car, just days past turning two,
waiting as my mother is rolled
down the ramp, Daddy walking
beside her, Amy swaddled in her lap.

Becky arrives in 1963, the same fall
the President is shot—both events
tied in my memory to the schoolyard
where I heard one bit of news
and shared the other.

By the time Jeannie arrives—
another girl—we know to be amused,
like Rosencrantz or Guildenstern
playing heads or tails and landing
on heads time after time.

Emily’s arrival prompts barbs
from well-meaning jokers,
certain they were “trying
for a boy,” a notion Daddy
denies–in writing saved until
she is old enough to ask.

Spread farther apart by miles
than years now, we celebrate
whenever we assemble, a full set,
posing for our sister picture,
lined up in order, always singing
“Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,”
our silly tradition, even on the Fourth
of July, making our husbands groan.


My selection touched a chord in that I too had lived with the loss of a sibling. Joesph, who would have been my oldest sib, lived all of eight hours of life. I wonder about his influence had he lived. I visit the grave on occasion, knowing the void was being filled by my other five siblings. I feel your emotion,as much as I feel my own, so SHERYL KAY ODER, I offer my BLOOM as small recompense, and thank you for this work.

Michael David by Sheryl Kay Oder

Squirreled away in the documents file
are the statistics of your life. You were
born and died on the same day.

Even though my bold footprints were small
—2 7/8″ by 1½”, yours were barely visible
and smaller still—2″ by ¾”.

Once I stepped over where they buried you,
but there is no headstone. The cemetery
told us where they laid your remains.

Mother never saw you; they said it would
be better that way. Those who did told her
the two of us looked alike at birth.

It took my own son to create a hole in both
our hearts. As I see my children’s connection
I now know what I have missed.

Congratulations Nancy and Sheryl on your BEAUTIFUL BLOOM selection!