she was shaking and talking
|
louder and louder
|
each sentence was sifted
|
to a very fine powder
|
her face was wet and tight
|
her grip was cold and light
|
a strong wind could blow you down
|
I heard myself say
|
word up sister
|
a strong wind
|
could take me away
|
|
I said how long have
|
you been at large
|
they told me you were stashed
|
last time I asked
|
she said I've been out now
|
for all of three hours
|
I just resurfaced
|
and here you are
|
I must admit
|
that it has been hard
|
so far
|
|
I said skeletons are fine
|
your closet or mine
|
and we took turns recounting
|
the details of lost time
|
and when we had both
|
admitted it all
|
we threw our heads back
|
and laughed until we cried
|
we laughed because the world
|
is absurd and beautiful and small
|
|
there we were
|
washed up on the curb
|
as the rush hour traffic
|
went out with the tide
|
and I was aware that
|
with every word spoken and shared
|
I could see her shaking subside
|
I said sister looks to me
|
like you're going to be fine
|
|
-----------------
|
Small World
|
Ani DiFranco |