We barely know each other,
yet, static silence threatens
to bring us both into a realm
of uncontrollable fear.

Your eyes meet mine
in a steady, strong gaze-
soul to soul.
A welling in the breast of knowing
clutches our throats,
and our mere words drown
in the depths
of profoundest sisterhood.

Wavering momentarily,
you grasp my hand
and I  feel your trembling fragility,
hear your strangled and silent cries,
perceive your dry, unshed tears
seeping into my own, stinging...
then evaporating
into the restless, keening and wailing
sands of entrapped time.

Oh, dear, wounded one,
we cannot speak of it now-
Instead, I offer you love
and my strong, supportive hand...

                    Martha Meshberg
                    Copyright ©2002

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