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Copyright © December 12, 2021 by Douglas W. Jerving.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author, except
as provided by USA copyright law.
Upon the crags of Peninsula lay
Upsala’s frail ghost white frame now corrupt
From days gas floated and the ice of nights
Thrown by the sea.
”She was my better half,“
Constance complained upon discovery
As if somehow her prattle could upend
The horror of her ”twin’s“ emaciation.
”She was your sister born the day you were.
Just two days before Christmas two years late.
That half is just coincidental, Cons!
You will not play your games and win with me.
Her mother knows the truth as well do you.“
”She was my sister just the same! Not mine
To drive her out for lack of progeny.
She went of her own accord. So then Go!
Father never wanted her any way,
Hallowed be him despite that history.“
Her brother kept his peace. What more to say?
Upsala was a hard one to figure.
She never forced herself to fit the mold
And always was at odds with her half-sis,
Her father and stepmother, and with him.
When she at last agreed to send her up,
By marriage and by sail to Terrain,
For spite she went aboard, (or ”to escape“
She said, ”this drudgery.“) A better life
Was all that she was hoping she could find
If not in economics, just in mind.
And her suiter was a merchant endowed
Enough with love and care for her, and she
Was certain she could love him just as much,
Time being on their side, and her freedom
From Peninsula and the family.
”The storm came up so fast, who would have known?
It is just September. Oh God why now?“
”The wind was always against her, Sister.
The wind is against us now.“ said Brother.
”Let us go up then together“ she said.
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Doug Jerving is the publisher of the NewEdisonGazette.com. You may contact him at
djerving@newedisongazette.com.
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