Sisters Pierrot

She haunted me as a child, Staring quietly from her watercolor world. Her strange presence called me. Powder-white skin and rouge cheeks, Pencil-thin brow over Dark-rimmed eyes Shedding a single tear, A pale rose between slender fingers, Seeking its fragrance. Quietly she slipped away, I never asked after her. Years later, her likeness appears. Same raven cap, Impossibly flagrant and frosty ruffles, Porcelain cheeks without a hint of blush Wide eyes tinged with sorrow, Flowerless hands, Her watercolor world mixed to black. Then they came to me, together, A dark evening in Paris. Delicate in their lightness, Impishly prancing in the streetlights As if giddy with some tantalizing secret. The first hands me her rose As she cups my face, “Dear one.” They move to either side, Taking my hands And we run. We run until we reach a dimly lit park Where we sit cross-legged in the damp grass Silent except for the panting of labored breaths Returning to their natural rhythm. “Tears bring fullness to life.” They wandered off into the night As suddenly as they had come. Leaving me to deliver their rose And share my tears with the people.