Blood in the Water

Beneath time's blue umbrella,

we sit spinning repeating history,

her breath held nearly half a century

exhales along with mine;

shared smoke surrounds our mouths'

found intimacy-

lit long ago between sisters of chance.

Two flames burning

the decaying hope of daughters.

There's blood in the water, she said.

For years, each failing

face kept fists

hidden beneath skin,

knuckles still struck

secret worlds of bruised distortion,

yet each public eye turned dry

for fear of shame.

we grew up smiling at our pain,

But night grew women

darkness where each buried child

might be reclaimed.

Hung from a child's neck,

the weight of mother's mirror;

like children digging through sand,

with slivers searching for our hands,

those thrown out selves,

of shattered glass,

her raging eyes lashed

back at her own reflection,

maternal fury's aim

struck hatred's fear,

of fragile arms longing,

asking to be loved.

There's blood in the water, again,

she cried.

It was shallow,

waves where mother emerged.

My name,

she remembered my name

and called for me,

weeping,

come, come.

It was shallow,

she said,

 illusion of safety,

longing of illusion.

Come, come.

But near, she sideways

turned black eyes,

white lids sliding closed,

in the back of her head

jaws wide and smiling,

a double row of teeth

deep in my thigh.

She smiled.

Sobbing stab of yearning's stupidity,

devastation smothering the "why",

slashing at the wrists

of her own humanity.

I held her hand,

loving the stupid want

that made her dream

love was alive and real,

holding between us

the hope that freedom

from brutal wounds

born in other people's hearts

is possible.

We're not alone, I told her.

And we'll survive.