Katie McFaul - Sister, Sister

I don’t know why we fight so much, how sugar plus spice equals bruises and blood,

Boozers downstairs duck underneath tables and chairs from the thunder rumbling above.

Some sisters like to giggle and share, spilling all of their secrets whilst braiding their hair,

We pulled pigtails and stole each other’s clothes, from t-shirts to scrunchies to underwear!

Tia and Tamera were the best of friends and they never threw down the way that we did,

Ashley and M.K were the blondest besties who were joined at the hip from when they were kids.

But you and I were like old Western cowboys, glaring through dust with hands by our guns,

Each day was the same, we would pillage and maim as our mother regretted not having sons.

Tuesday nights were like Fight Club to us, where we’d settle the score by declaring a war.

There was no drab basement where we could throw fists so you’d find us in the upstairs corridor.

How we wound up there was never too clear, yet we stood to attention in pyjama armour,

With bunny slippers on and damp hair plaited, we were ready to start some serious drama.

No adults or sitters can stop us now, with our parents glammed up and out on the town,

For their only night off... away from us, escaping the horror of our sibling showdown.

‘YOU’RE A FUCKING BITCH!!!’ is spat in my eye, the ancient cry of this 10 year war.

We sprinted as fast as our bodies allowed and through our wheezing we cursed and swore.

Pasty, freckled arms reach out, grabbing fistfuls of flab and handfuls of hair,

Her fearsome grip drives my face to her pit where I flail like a Muppet, gasping for air.

We tumble about like two cartoon cats, scrapping in the alley for the last fish bone -

Ferocious and feral, we accept our peril and feel right at home in the danger zone.

We girly slap any skin that shows, our arms and legs turning blotchy red,

She makes me cry by spewing forth the meanest things she’s ever said.

So I hit her hard, right across the face and my hand leaves a perfect print.

She says nothing at all, not even a flinch, but in her eyes is a murderous glint - 

Then quick as lightning her arm draws back, her claws cast a shadow in the stark lamplight,

She cuts through the air with effortless ease, and slices my skin as she laughs with delight.

What looks like a scratch cries a river of red and I panic as I watch it cascade down my leg,

I scream so loud that I deafen myself -  I can’t even hear my sister grovel and beg.

She gets tired of reasoning and covers my gob with her hand to silence my cries of assault,

I’m dragged to her room, confused and bruised, as I’m told repeatedly it wasn’t her fault.

She flings me the tissues and I’m smacked in the nose by the box - one more scar for show and tell.

Then I realise with joy that she’s dragged me to her room and not to the burning pits of hell.

A teenage dream of leopard print sheets, funny photos of friends and posters of bands,

As I gawp in awe I am kindly reminded to not touch anything or I’d lose both my hands.

Whilst she dabs at my leg with the Kleenex, we watch a film we’re both too young to see,

Our violent tendencies simply cease as we giggle and snort in agreeable glee.

I know this kindness is just for show, you’re just covering your bloody tracks in the snow,

But these moments we share are so fun and rare, that I cling to them more tightly than you’ll ever know.

Laughing in the back seat on long car drives and me following you wherever you go,

Renting the same movies from Blockbuster each week and cassettes of our homemade radio show.

And yes, I will tell mum what you have done as soon as they return from their only night out,

And you will do your best to pin it all on me as our parents question what we’re fighting about.

But for now it’s a truce, sitting side by side on the floor behind the closed door of your room,

Watching a film that we have seen before, festering happily in the darkness and gloom.

And until the credits begin to roll, when we remember the details of our legendary fight,

I could not be happier than I am right now - there’s no better way to spend a Tuesday night!

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Written by Katie McFaul

After travelling from place to place (much like Madonna in ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’), Katie finally settled in Bristol and spends her time helping animals in need, eating biscuits and constantly being late for everything. Her likes include vegan cuisine, movies of any description and writing god awful poetry. Her dislikes include slow walkers, narrowmindedness and talking about herself in the third person.