I saw a freshly bloomed lilac bush bending up
then curling down
with the weight of dew and rain.
I sat with its mundane beauty till it hurt.
You are not a metaphor
so I will stand in the circle of your 'thisness'
letting my scalp be nourished as you cry.
How did we end up here?
There is a pain that makes a home at the heart of our silence,
claiming all we know of each other
like the sea claims the shore.
Where are we when the myth of sisterhood is gone?