In death my sister was a different soul
No longer bound by family myths and broils
Her body there inside a copper bowl
Surrounding her, the sculptures from her toils.
She lived tormented, bound by alcohol
But through it wrought transcendent works of clay.
She was the one who made our family fall.
She died unsung, unknown, in sleep one day.
We mourned her passing in a room of light
In death, her secret treasures left us dumb
Instead of weakness, what we found was – sight,
We had not known her as she had become.
We cannot see inside another’s heart…
Condemn them not when they don’t play their part.