Finally I wrote to her
and I know her eyes
are holding it, holding back
quivering perhaps
as I have been for months
and a certain freedom
greets me like I didn’t quite know
how to relax my palms
and gently thank
the presence of soul
in the roots of grass.
This week felt like sick days
of mourning the last death
and I am growing, a weekend
toward sisterhood
as I know it more deeply
today, any letter or poem
I could have sailed
is a ship for me
to watch off toward the horizon
evening drawing
and a yellow, oranging,
greying line grows top the blue
the ship is dark now,
tall, teetering off
I send prayers,
believe in her journey
and put myself to bed.
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