Sonya Sones
home  •  my books  •  bio  •  what’s new?  •  events  •  banned books  •  visits  •  faqs  • contact
for writers  •  office tour  •  what I'm reading  •  great novels  •  novels in verse  •  photos  •  buy
Sonya Sones What My Mother Doesn't Know To Be Perfectly Honest Facebook Sonya Sones Twitter Sonya Sones Sonya Sones Pinterest Instagram Sonya Sones Tumblr page
Some Poems from Stop Pretending
My Sister's Christmas Eve Breakdown
One day
she was my sister,
so normal and well-behaved,
the next she was a
stranger
rushing
out the door to
Midnight Mass, a wild-eyed
Jewish girl wearing only a
nightgown.
One day
he was my dad,
so calm and quiet and
in control, the next he was a
stranger
dragging
my big sister
away from the door, up
the stairs, screaming so loud that my
ears stung.
One day
she was my mom,
so reliable and good in
a crisis, the next she was a
stranger
standing
stock still with her
hands clamped over her mouth
and her eyes squeezed shut, not even
breathing.
That day
I sank into
the wall, wondering what
these three people were doing in
my house
and I
shouted that they
had to stop, even though
I wasn't supposed to talk to
strangers.
Hospitalized
Sister's in the psycho ward
and when I visit, I glance toward
the other patients' twisted faces,
quaking fingers,
frightened eyes,
wishing I could somehow break her out of here...
Then Sister starts to scream at Mother,
telling her how much she hates her,
begging her to stop the voices
chattering inside her skull.
I'm feeling sick,
the air's too thick...
Suddenly I'm running, stumbling,
Sister's demons chasing after,
leering, laughing,
right behind me
lurching at my heels
remind me:
I could have been the one.
Run, Sister, run!
Midnight Swing
When I can't fall asleep
I sneak out to the yard
and climb onto the swing
that's attached to a branch
of the sweet scented pine.
As I glide through the night
and I hang back my head
I see stars and a moon
that's following me
through the evergreen trees.
And I fly on my swing
through the midnight ice cold
as the swirling white clouds
of my own frozen breath
brush my tingling cheeks.
And my nightgown wafts up
and my hair billows out
as I float through the air
and there's only the sound
of the dark whooshing past.
And my thoughts drift to you
on a day long ago
when my legs were too short
so you helped me climb up
and you taught me to pump.
Sonya and sister
my big sister and me
Sonya Sones' books
Copyright 2004-. Sonya Sones. All rights reserved.
To Be Perfectly Honest Stop Pretending What My Mother Doesn't Know What My Girlfriend Doesn't Know One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies The Hunchback of Neiman-Marcus Necessary Noise Sixteen Sonya Sones Collection Saving Red