WHY WE WOULDN'T COME
A. L. Thomas
To the Other Dying Daughter—
In fairness, it wasn't your mistake. It couldn't be,
for blaming you? The instant you appeared
appeared. A fresh canvas. We painted you
you weren't born dying. You weren't born her,
to be born right, to begin to die. No one
To the Other, Not Yet Dead—
She came out shrouded: it was
Five years—a life
Now forty years
which starts itself here,
into the ground.
We hear a lot of stories about people we'll never meet; sometimes we hear enough of them to feel like we might even recognize the people in question. This piece is my attempt to become the character in one string of stories I've heard--to write myself into that character in order to try to understand why she's done what she's done.