In 1960s Kodachrome

three sisters less than three years apart

sit cross-legged, unselfconscious

hair tousled, streaked with sun,

play clothes strewn across their chests.

One squints, elbows on knees. Another

shades her face. A third straight-backed,

blue eyes wide with surprise.

Three sisters tossed in the air by their father

scamper into a bubbled bath and crowd the tub.

One by one hoisted by their mother

toweled dry, hair fragrant with soap.

Three girls giggle into gowns

before supper and stories.

Sisters tucked in one bed loose-limbed,

shallow breaths curl from each to each to dream

three dreams that one day will pull them apart.