Sisterhood

 

The thing I feared the most was done, and there

was no one near, no one to carry me to somewhere I

might sleep away the pain. But when I raised my head

again− a reflex, really, not anticipating anything around

my patch of ground to stir my interest, certainly no object

worth the energy of creeping toward − I found myself

the center of a circle keeping me between the earth and

sky, defying gravity, without my straining, straining not to

disappear. I wondered fleetingly if it might be a sort of

birth, this unfamiliar fearless laxity. Oh, well. They had

of course mistaken me for someone else. But no, I couldn't

make it stick. They knew me perfectly, I was convinced, and

they had taken me in spite of it, or maybe it was why... for

pity's sake. I wasn't capable of pride nor could I then have

put a name to such a mystery of grace, such generosity of

spirit that was meant to never slip away. I hadn't the

vocabulary, till I recognized the thing I’d always known,

the fallow way you know that there are other suns and

galaxies: the ancient, great, and silent sisterhood that

gathers in its own, just as the full moon summons to itself

the tides, as I had come, as I was lifted, given wings.

There was a momentary quivering, the air around me,

sparrow on a wire, delivering the final spasms of a storm

whose center has been spent. A flash, a surge-- then even

memories of love betrayed were burned away, and what

remained was new and clean, anticipating, like an April

morning after rain. Because I could, I flew, light as a

thistle seed, for I was going home as to a mother who has

prayed, has wished, has ever waited, nearer than I knew

and patient, as the venerable oak waits for the weary to

require its shade.