Hello again, Sister

On a wreath at 10 and 4 o'clock

two birds are fastened

as if circling in the air

two sisters on a wheel of time

watching life apart

meet again this year.

For the hands have widened on the clock

at 3 and 9 we've leveled off

it happens every cycle 'round

imbalanced then

but balanced now

we snatch each other, fingers long

me short and slow

her paced and strong

and promise before this time is gone

to be the sweetest sisters you've ever seen

and we mean it

every time.

As if we don't recognize it's a circle

that Time is round and not flat

though it pulls you out like an iron leaves your spiral ponytail

so you bounce as you go

so you loosen as you return to your roots

around this little invisible construct you curl

into pretty hair, like a pretty snake

DNA strands, both crap and cake

all hold what happened and what still needs to be

though some hold their shape and some fly away free

stories come back around

and so do we.

Hello again, Sister

let's relax our perms together

dip our heads in water

so we braid better

and crown ourselves in pretty wreathes of sage

our cycles have made voluminous locks for the hands of time to comb through

it's just knots before we're smooth again

it's just tocks before we click into place

face to face like the sun and moon

during that short period when they are both visible

greeting each other a little less surprised

but a little more pleased

as we tire

like 2 hawks circling

when there's no more prey

but no longer care

because this loop has become meditation

a prayer for 2 birds

leaning in

so the wind pulls our wings apart farther

as we remember all the fights and play

nights and delay before this

that make this momentum easier to trust

and make this current easier to follow

gliding effortlessly now that our arms are fully open.

Hello again, Sister

I remember you from the nest

let's take this turn slowly

and land softly now that we are old birds

and we've both been down this way before

we'll lay pretty wreathes with little birdies on them

to grieve the feathers lost from both our backs

to the harsh brushing of time.