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Sisters of the Page has been on the web since 2007. We have featured the works of Misti Rainwater-Lites, MK Chavez, Judy Brekke and Craig Sernotti.

SOTP is a place where we promote female writers, artists, and photographers. This is our goal and our emphasis however, from time to time, we will open the page to everyone in order to showcase some of their works.

Please feel free to click on our archive for past works. It is located at the bottom of each page. If you have comments, please post them under the artist's work, General comments may be directed to the editor at midulcevida66@gmail.com.

Abusive and deragatory comments will not be tolerated and will be immediately removed.

We hope you enjoy your visit. Thanks for stopping by.

Juliana Vargas
Editor-Sisters of the Page



Sunday, March 23, 2008

The Hitman's Love Letter by Juliana Vargas


I woke up this morning with a hangover to shame all hangovers .

I looked over and your side of the bed was empty, sheets smooth.

You never came home.

I wasn’t surprised. You haven’t been here in days.


I got up and slipped into the same socks I wore the day before,

Oscar de la Rentas I had picked up at the local discount store.

They cut off the circulation at the calf and made my legs hurt.


I scratched my ass on the way to the toilet and thought about planting you like daisies

I loved daisies. Perfect, neat and simple with their evenly spaced petals and sunny faces.

The looked sweet, like you.

They were deceitful, like you.

You picked them up to take a sniff and they just stank like common ground weeds.


I let my mind drift as I stood over the pot and shook the piss of my prick.

Thought of how your red hair would look spread out over freshly turned dirt.

How you would turn those lying eyes up to me and plead for mercy.

How I was going to water you with a high pressure hose.


Nobody said I was a good gardener. One of those green thumbed type of people.

I had ripped the heads off more than a few daisies this way.

I would stand there in a daze, hose in my hand, thinking about cement shoes and weighted coolers

and I would look down and damn if there weren't flattened flowers and petals scattered in the muck.

I want to see you just like that.

That whore’s hair covered in mud, plastered to your splattered cheeks.

Those green eyes bloodshot and screams washed right out of your bitch mouth


I’m drying my hands now and getting ready to shower when I hear you come in the door.

I am going to bring you in here and let you wash the filth from your skin.

I know where you’ve been and it’s ok.


I will get your bath ready for you and lay out your prettiest outfit.

You see, I have something special planned for your today.

Before I show it to you, I need to finish digging the hole in the garden.



Juliana has been posted in several online and print publications. She is the Editor of Sisters of the Page

Join Sisters of the Page on http://www.myspace.com/sistersofthepage. More of Juliana's work can be located at http://myspace.com/inkstaynedangel



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