So much alike

If I decline this chance to visit the sister
I served an officer in the Army with, the one
closest to me and at whose desk I sat on my
first scared day at school, then I am a fool.
Mavis is a rare pearl, a gem of like mind whose
purview of the Army differed from mine
– but only in that she was a girl.

Mavis’ virtue grew from turning times in khaki
and green, her being there a warm reassuring
and firm sisterly hand, guiding with a calm voice,
restoring the choice of commonsense, reinforcing
the ordinary and familiar references, conceding deeds
mattered more than self-praise, which only raised
derision when brought to the court of good manners.

They are huge thoughts to ponder indeed;
should I let my mind wander at will, as a free
and vaporous entity to charter its course
through unguent seas of sibling memories,
barter and sift the pebbles and grains remaining,
placidly ride the emotional tides and drift in
blameless currents in search of my sister’s side.

There is a chance I can’t entertain the coincidence,
a risk that an eclectic glance in those eccentric mirrors
will mist the visions I seek, distorting familiars, revealing
just me. That is a weakness I won’t have bear if I care only
to think with warmth and comfort of Mavis, knowing
quite separately she has similar thoughts which
are true of both of us who are so much alike.
© I.D. Carswell