Sister Love

All Poems, Emotions, Food, Health/Illness, Sister Love

Have You Ever Been Distracted?

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Have you ever been distracted while baking?

Maybe by the newest political outrage?

A ring at the door?

Children fighting?

Your own unsolved problem?

Causing you to forget an ingredient?

The leavening?

Eggs?

Shortening?

Or, like I did, vanilla.

In almond biscotti.

When my sister phoned to report good results.

Her test, negative.

I stopped mixing.

Listened intently.

Rejoiced with her.

Sliding my cookies into the oven without extract.

But, after double baking, they emerged toasted, crisp.

Loaded with cranberries, chocolate, slivered nuts.

Suffusing the kitchen with almond aroma.

Instead of vanilla flavor,

they carried hints of latest news.

Biscotti with good tidings,

whispers of joyfulness infused.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 24, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Health/Illness, Humor, Panic, Siblings, Sister Love

My Sister Went Down

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I shrieked, shrill, high-pitched.

Agitating tranquil breezes.

After only a few steps, exiting the doctor’s office.

As my sister, whom I escorted there, went down.

Losing her balance removing the K-N95.

Which she obediently wore.

Told to do so in her reminder phone call.

Though once inside, finding it optional.

There she was beside me.

On the ground.

Managing to keep her neck tilted, crown above the sidewalk.

So as not to hit the cement.

A driver from a transit service came running.

Offered her his arm to stand.

Dust off the sudden loss of equilibrium.

I’m okay, she reassured us, pushing him away, herself up.

Nothing serious. Maybe a bit sore.

I inhaled the damp, biting air.

Relieved she wasn’t hurt.

On my watch.

So, I said to her, Dad would be proud.

Her face clouded, confused, what do you mean?

I answered, well, you protected your head. I watched your maneuver.

Going on to explain, when I broke my pelvis, Dad scolded me.

For not knowing how to fall!

She laughed.

I joined her.

For though tripping right beside me,

my sister knew what to do.

Held head high, jumped right up,

dismissing all rescue.

 

Lynn Benjamin

 

8, 2023

 

All Poems, Food, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Siblings, Sister Love

My Sister Brings Fruit

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In recent years, my sister brings fruit to holiday dinners.

Mostly because she doesn’t cook.

It’s easy to order a tray of cut fruit.

For the requisite finale at family gatherings.

This year, though, our Rosh Hashanah gathering is smaller.

Daughter, off to be cantor at a shul in Connecticut.

Sons, in distant states.

So, the full tray a bit too much.

How about four pints of berries? I asked her a few months ago.

Sure, she agreed.

But, this morning, she called.

Prefaced the conversation with this might sound strange.

Then asked, how much is a pint of fruit?

Rather than explaining pints and quarts, I pivoted to packages.

Just bring four packages of berries. In any combination.

For example, two strawberry, one blueberry, one raspberry.

Or, whatever looks best.

She hesitated, but said, okay.

New Years is a time to learn new things.

A grandson, starting college.

A daughter, leading services.

Bob, changing a toilet seat.

My sister, choosing fruit.

It’s not a time to judge others.

Only to take stock inside.

Be honored that a person trusts,

feels safe to share, confide.

Hold another’s doubt with care

as though ceramic, and could break.

Once fallen and in pieces,

hard to rebuild, and remake.

All of us confront not knowns

whether simple or complex.

Be kind to others and to self.

For new learning can perplex.

 

Lynn Benjamin

September 16, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Birthdays, Humor, Siblings, Sister Love

Surprise Birthday Party

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My sister has always loved to celebrate her birthday.

From childhood parties to adult festivities.

The more cards the better!

It was never just one day.

She was born on February 6th.

She would start reminding us in November!

As though we could forget!

This year she turned sixty.

Numerous people took her to lunch or dinner.

I sent a gift and card in early January.

Since I’d be away.

No matter.

Festivities had begun the end of the year before!

Her family planned a surprise party.

Between theater tickets and a vacation to Disney.

A dinner at a local restaurant for about a dozen.

Which Bob and I could attend.

Nestled, as it was, between our trips away.

The day arrived.

Bright, sunny, warm by February standards.

Scheduled at an early hour.

Which, by my calculation, would reduce the waiting time.

But, the minutes ticked by like little slugs.

Creeping around the face of the clock.

Till time to dress.

Set the GPS.

Go!

To a restaurant unknown to us.

Though frequented by legions.

For crowds arrived in caravans.

Hordes exited as we entered.

Always a shock to me to witness the public so animated.

So alive.

So confident post pandemic.

For Bob and I still donned masks.

To wade through throngs.

To the small designated room.

Which, by the way, had six overflow tables for outsiders.

Needed as the evening progressed.

But, at first, just us.

Holli, phone in hand, waiting for a signal from Rachel, her sister.

As to when the birthday girl and her husband would arrive.

So, we all marked time.

Holli, husband’s family, friends, Bob and I.

Hovering with nervous small talk.

Till the alert.

Moment of entry.

Cameras poised.

To videotape.

Snap photos.

Of the unsuspecting honoree.

Who was, indeed, dazzled.

Delighted by yet another appreciation of her birthday jubilee.

And I, her senior sister,

almost fourteen years older,

with maternal instincts

was awed to behold her.

Photos popped up on Facebook.

Another token of pride.

One step more in Sheryl’s campaign

to note her day world wide!

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 13, 2023

All Poems, Birth, Birthdays, Memories, Siblings, Sister Love, Stories

The Wonder of Your Birth

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To Sheryl

Sometimes people go a lifetime.
Managing not to reveal thoughts.
So, I want to make sure you know.
Before another day rolls by.
A musing that has dwelled inside me.
For fifty-nine years.
Imagine!
A young teen.
Going to school.
Phoning friends.
Flirting with boys
Living in a world as big as her neighborhood.
No larger.
No smaller.
When you, a newborn, blow through the door.
Into my life.
On a cold February day.
Like today.
An early Valentine.
Invitation to see through other eyes.
Taste.
Feel.
Smell.
To be you.
Be me.
All at once.
Teen and hatchling.
Learning to know another, however imperfectly.
A gift from you to me.
Without box.
Wrapping.
Ribbon.
Card.
Price.
That seeps into my psyche.
My ears.
Eyes.
Hands.
That, Sheryl, is the miracle you wrought.

Lynn Benjamin
February 6, 2022

All Poems, Siblings, Sister Love, Spanish language

Sister Love

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You asked me once upon a time
to be your mirror.
To see yourself in the brown of my autumnal eyes.
Yours are young, blue.
They beg reflection from my own.

You and I are history and beginning.
First to last.
Sister to sister.
Back to back.
Front to front.
Cervix to cervix.
Head to toe.
Past to future.

Together we make a poem,
already written, but, as yet, without end.

You are the first to whom I lost my heart in lullabies.
Sweet and soft.
Song of songs.
My sister-child.
Who gave to me the love I gave to her
in Spanish smiles and words
that rolled from our tongues.
Rimas de amor.
Flor a flor.
Felicidad y dolor.
Through the green of our days
until one day after the last summer game of
Ring Around Rosy,
you left to find the fountain of youth.
I stayed behind where Roses bloomed and Suns
followed in a row.

A part of you I wore, though,
like a cape around my body.
I used it to make other little flowers grow.
You taught me to love, care, teach, nourish.
The cape kept me near you.
Warm for many years.

Until one day, you returned,
a grown child-sister,
to the land of roses and suns,
to claim it as your own.

Now you wear the cape.
I have given it freely
for in its lining are seeds of change, growth.
With it around your body,
you will learn female secrets,
become a woman.
Separate, but never alone.

Woman-sister, my eyes will be your mirror.
Yours will mirror other flowers.
They, in turn, will mirror others
in that endless chain of female children
who must wear the cape to bloom.

One day, you will pass the cape to another.
Un regalo de amor.
Hermana a hermana.
Flor a flor.

Lynn Benjamin
1987

When my parents moved to Florida (1975), they took my youngest sister with them. She was about to start high school. I am fourteen years her senior so when she was born (1963), I pretended she was my baby. I adored her, and I missed her terribly when she moved to Florida as a teenager. At fourteen, I took my first Spanish language course in 9th grade. I was in love with the language, and I was in love with my baby sister. After she graduated college, she came north to live with my family. She was having mental health problems, and Bob and I were there for her. The allusions to  roses and suns are to my children: Roseanne and her brothers, the sons. Sheryl adored her niece and nephews, and part of her healing process was to engage with them in many activities. Later, Sheryl married and had two lovely daughters of her own.

All Poems, Electronics, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, Siblings, Sister Love

My Sister Fulfills Her Promise to Cook: A New Year’s Resolution

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I was taking a walk on a sparkling autumnal day.
Just before Rosh Hashanah.
Two dogs of unequal size and breed barked, chased after me.
Arousing me from a reverie.
While I composed a poem.
Simultaneously, my cell phone,
asleep in my pocket,
woke from its nap.
Insistently chirped.
Nabbed in the act of writing, I dropped my pen.
Stooped to pick it up.
Flipped open my cell.
Pulled an amplifier out of the other pocket.
Pressed a button to connect it to the cell.
Magically, I held my sister’s voice in my left hand.
Her question to me was simple:
What size potatoes should I buy?

This was the start of the new year.
Sheryl’s resolution to cook.

Lynn Benjamin
October 2, 2005

Sheryl is my youngest sister, fourteen years my junior. She has never liked to cook. In fact, she really doesn’t cook. But, she always offered to bring something to our holiday dinners. I decided to ask her to roast the potatoes for a Rosh Hashanah dinner, thinking that roasting potatoes was a simple task. She couldn’t figure out which size potatoes to buy! I don’t think she actually did roast the potatoes for that dinner. Instead, she ordered a fruit tray. She’s been ordering and bringing fruit trays ever since!