When the March Girls Grow Up

when the march girls grow up

By fourth year Natalie Schott

The family had all girls - one, two, three.

We lived in an old brick house, the second on the street with a magnolia tree.

Our lives were simple, yet complete - like the ribbon on my sister’s easter dress tied back into a bow.

In that old house, the summers passed like a horse trotting lazily around its pen. The winters were wrapped in the warmth of a candle’s glow.

Our mother baked our birthday cakes. We laughed and ate. At that age, time is not a thing to contemplate.

The years were steady,

My sister’s room is empty.

Her dreams had started,

Our trio was disparted.

Now that I am older I understand,

Why my mother would bake our cakes with a gentle hand.

Yet, I look up at the sky and try to mark all that I see

And I remember stars shine? the same in Knoxville, Tennessee.

The love for my sister did not cease to grow,

Wisdom taught me—to love is to know.

I embrace the changing of fate,

Knowing the love of my sisters will always resonate.

Of this, I am assured,

Despite where I may be lured.

Wealth and fame - of these I have no need,

My sisters are the greatest gift I will ever receive.

Though we may no longer live together,

The love of sisters is without any measure.

What a privilege it is to love,

And be loved in return.