Lost Sister
She takes on form and shape and comes into focus. She looks exactly like my sister, though I do not have a sister. Combing through my unwashed hair, the slenderness of her fingers on my scalp, we are transported to the Alhambra where we lose ourselves in the Generalife amidst the fountains and Tiger flies, the morning flashes of sun showing through her skirt.
She is my sister.
We eat sweet lemon and bitter orange and don't speak a word, silence strengthening our filial bond.
I don't have a sister.
She is my sister.
We eat sweet lemon and bitter orange and don't speak a word, silence strengthening our filial bond.
I don't have a sister.
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Author's Note
This piece was one I wrote when I was in "one of those moods." It brought memories back of Spain and Granada and the wonderful gardens at the Alhambra. It ran last year at Long Story Short.
Other stories by Michael J. Solender
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BULL: {Men's Fiction}
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Metazen
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Very poetic and sensual. Love the contradiction of the sweet lemon and bitter orange. Peace...
Nice imagery in this. Love the contradicting ideas of she is the narrator’s sister, she’s not the narrator’s sister. It reads like a dream.
..She looks exactly like my sister, though I do not have a sister..amidst the fountains and Tiger flies, the morning flashes of sun showing through her skirt..We eat sweet lemon and bitter orange and don't speak a word..nice. Love these lines and images.