It is hard to explain to those who do not know,
the depth of entanglement that can exist between women.
No a longer a moment, but a knotted thread that cannot be unpicked
by even the brightest painted fingernails,
or snipped at by the sharpest, sewing scissors.
A snarl at the core looks with brilliant eyes and says,“yes,I know you.”
Body and soul, I know you.
For we are cut from the same imperfect stuff
and a line of stitching leads us back, always back.
There comes a point where you finally trust that it always will,
for how could it ever not?

They are laughing at us, you and I; the old women
who weave the world and set that entanglement to begin.
We spent so many years wondering where the path would go,
little did we know that we need not have wondered at all.
A cord around the wrist sealed in blood.
A spindle’s mark to keep us.
If there are between us, spells of silence, know this
My Everything Girl, know this;
It is simply because you need never compromise your dreams for me.
They are so precious. It only means I did not know
how to tell you when it mattered.


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