“The sisters of mercy / they are not departed / or gone.”
Darwin took his trip to Daphne Major and,
changed forever what it meant
for us to become.
There were new tortoises and platypuses,
beetles and barnacles and blue-footed boobies,
oh, so many different finches!
It was the island herself
who made them so many and so rich.
Her finite store of Tribulus seeds,
her infinite tribulations and
volcanic experience prompting
rival siblings into individual species,
transforming their very beaks
into more appropriate
tools of survival.
Many years later,
a young girl, a true Tryphena,
saw her father, brother, mother
between them encounter and endure
a still closer sadness,
a twin loss, a scarlet Tryphosa,
and then, incredibly,
now with a newer sister beneath her wing,
the young woman took her own trip,
discovering that, despite everything,
the Wars had not won.
There was a brand new queen
with a divine prince husband,
lunch and champagne at
Canada House, and
“Mary still out at 1:30 am – tut! tut!”
There was Mallorca and Barcelona
and Nice and Cap Martin;
Capri and Sorento and Genoa,
Laocoön and the Vatican,
and, by all means, Rome.
There were the Carters and Stopford and
Stephanie and Smitty,
Dora and the Casa Rosa,
gin and oranges and quarrels with Jack,
“a very superior sort of type,”
“Julie and Dougie
have new house and puppy
and there was wine
and Mario picking flowers
“so very sweet.”
But more than all that,
there were two sisters being
the closest of friends.
For the now many of us,
and, perhaps especially, for me,
this trip too changed forever
what it would mean
Two sisters returned to
spur the evolution of our pulses –
with all of our differences;
for better, for worse;
when loving and not –
and forged the generations now
looking through their eyes.
[for Mary Tryphena Smith, née Wurtele, and Daphne Jane Moyle Abraham, née Wurtele]
(c) Michael Quentin Abraham, 2016.