December 23, 2009
My sisters shoot piercing arrows, pull back, the twang of their bows make arrows fly to my heart. These are the painful pierces, the ugly words, the horrible looks, the off-the-shoulder, turn away actions, nose in the air looks that shout they don’t care. Yet, interspersed with these arrows are the ones from cupid’s bow – the ones that land softly in the pillowy flesh of my heart and spread their fiery warmth, sisterly love, love, love, in me. I am eager to love.