It's a weekday evening, and yet.
She sent an SMS;
I gladly take the bait.
We opt in for adventure.
We've left our titles
at the office,
our domestic obligations
at the front door.
Set off as first-name-only
women in wide open spaces.
We park and lightly stretch.
We progress in parallel
while alternating lines
of conscious conversation.
We share,
we spill,
we dissect.
The kinship of support
of spiritual exchanges
of deep connection
of sacred silences
interrupted by Staccato
cackles of knowing laughter.
Between the hours of
six and ten at night, we
tackle all the big topics:
Love
War
Divorce
Dating
Children
Teenagers
Extracurriculars
Scheduling
Skincare
Gnats
Blue Herons
Physical Therapy
Parents
Vacations that turn out
to be burdens in disguise.
Every so often our
invisible cocoon of intimacy
is punctured by passing men
on unusually fancy bikes.
If we are so lucky, they cry:
"On your Left!"
As they urgently peddle by.
These men seem intent
to complete their self-appointed
work night warrior challenge.
Soon, with a deep breath,
the noisy male-marked path
restores back to feminine,
soft curves
and sunset symphonies.
We reach a landmark in the trail,
realize it's time to turn back.
Turtles, frogs, redwing blackbirds
and a solo great egret
greet us as we stroll by.
On the way back to our origin
we discuss and everything from
sales goals to the art and science
of romantic partnerships.
In the span of these hours
that we have surgically carved
out of our daily duties
— just for ourselves —
we become calm, wise,
circumspect, buoyed with clarity.
What magic, to be upheld
by the power of chat,
to be transported away
from the land of Must Dos.
This capsule episode
pulls me out from the eddies
through shimmering waters
until we arrive
at the car in peace.
I've written it before
and I'll sing it again.
It is the Sisterhood
that keeps me moving.
.
.
