If Sisyphus Had a Sister
Peering over the top of the steep hill,
The other side seems so dizzyingly close
One push away
Sisypher, her slate gray pants and matching jacket are
Torn and bloodstained.
Her hands, gripped so tightly, are inexplicably loosened
Then a pause
A tumbling noise so frighteningly loud
Smashing, splintering, shredding shards of granite
Sisypher narrowly jumps aside mesmerized
As the massive boulder skips and hops down the hill
Roaring until there is a hush.
Silent tears stain the cheeks of all who view the spectacle
The lonely figure at the top
Begins her descent.