there's something comforting
about following the light of elder women
who have grown up together;
in a church whose bells sing to you
each day you are fortunate enough
to be reborn in san miguel.
how gates open and part in their familiar hands,
and the twists and turns,
and steep circular stairways of life become
a cloister of safety
at their steadfast pace.
and i follow them;
until we all open up like white winged arches
to peace filled courtyards and the prayers of flowers.
and when they rest,
hands in the lap of long lives
on the green iron bench of shared and private memories,
silent in their contentment; they seem to
hold up the very sky.
until that singular day
when life lifts each of us like a bell
that has longed to ring out an entire lifetime,
and across the fountain another woman calls
each one of us home
to rest in her light.
trailblazing on the path of sisterlove