As I'm sure you'll realise from the non-too-subtle lines below, I'm a middle daughter. Though I love both my sisters dearly, I've often wondered whether our position in the family hierarchy has an impact on who we are and how we live our lives.
Family favourites
Pressed tongue in a sandwich,
cement between bricks.
Flattened and squeezed.
Pig in the middle.
Passed over and tricked,
taunted and teased.
No heir to the future
nor late-blooming bud
on a family tree
Never the only,
the first or the last.
The second of three.
2 comments:
I really like that one. Great poem. Bitter and twisted, but in a nice way! I do of course say that from the perspective of a late blooming bud.
Hi Sharon
What a powerful poem. From one middle child to another more power to you.
I have three sisters and five brothers and four daughters and I'm sixth of line, which you might know from having visited my blog where I have just now met you.
Middle born - it's an ignominious position indeed. I am deeply aware of chronology in our families of origin. I think it marks us forever. Your poem is testimony to this.
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