sister
We were born 465 days apart on this blue planet.
Our tiny pink bodies occupied the same mother water
almost long enough for us to dream saltwater dreams together
sister dear.
Year after year, summer after summer,
our bodies were suspended together in countless holy waters.
Every sunset every laugh every fire every evening spent under the stars
our bodies were together.
We grew into our youth and then into womanhood together.
When I was 17 I left to see how I could be
without you in the water next to me.
And it was cold, and it was bitter and it was wild.
I thought I was supposed to love my independence.
I thought I was supposed to love being a wild woman.
But holy waters demand a confidant to share them with, no?
It’s been 8 years since I veered off course
and since then, like 2 rivers we have grown
deeper and truer
closer and further
tighter and looser
together and apart
and still the water is where I find myself with you.
Now we’re older
and every inch of your being
every cell
everything about you
is growing this new body of saltwater.
You have become the carrier,
the bearer
the vessel
and I am watching and waiting to hold this saltwater being
who is bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh and whose first breaths will be a result of your body broken for theirs.
Every deep breath every movement every cry every howl every song every dance every laugh every honest word
radiates colour into this new tapestry of hums and vibrations growing inside of you.
You have become the mother water, sister dear.
You are weaving something I have never known
and it is beautiful.
You hold you measure you collapse you reinvent you magnify you illuminate you redirect.
The rivers flowing from you are endless.
You are shaping paths out of rock, carving a new way only you could carve.
And you will teach this new body how to trust the flow.
Year after year, summer after summer,
our bodies will be suspended together in countless holy waters
saltwater daydreaming as each wave rolls in
sister dear.