Sisterhood

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?

Jen Holden