Getting to Sleep

The two sisters come home for the holidays.
There is grace, the meal, and a lot to drink.
The youngest boy goes up to change clothes.
They are all going out to visit in the next county,
All but the two sisters.
They curl up near the fire, sipping coffee.
The boy comes down the stairs, a towel around him,
Drying off in front of the fire.
He is fourteen years old now
The one sister says to the other.
After the family leaves, the two sisters
Climb the stairs to their old room.
They undress and climb into the cold feathers
Of the two iron beds.
It is a good moon out, and snow.
They lie there in the dark,
Thinking about their girlhood friend
The other farmer's wife; and the farmer,
His dark hair, his gloves, the smoke
In his clothes, and the rabbit blood under his nails.
Under their beds, holding them level and steady,
Are a few of the books they read long ago.
The two sisters lie there in the dark, thinking
This night, a pianist whose hands they can't see.
And the past, in white gloves, like the snow,
What they're hearing now,
Like a man with long sideburns
Climbing the pine stairs in sock feet,
A man the both of them are in love with.

© Ginny Stanford