The Edge of Somewhere I Have Never Been

I got a postcard from the edge of somewhere I have never been, handwritten in
nostalgic scrawl, four words, quite small and neatly centered:
Why are we here? but underneath the question is a statement
filled with pain and doubt: Why am I here, and what accomplishments 
are printed there below my name? And who the hell am I supposed to be?
And if I'm asking, but the answers aren't forthcoming, maybe I should 
make arrangements, meet my Maker face-to-face and ask again, 
when maybe he will not ignore so easily.

We agree to meet when she's returned; I want to comment without sounding
glib, cliche, too trite, too light, as if I judge her suffering (I don't) or find
it so ridiculous, get over it, let's change the subject, order one more round.
She scares me, and she knows it, but she also sees that I won't budge
despite that fact I'm clueless as to how to help, afraid to follow
her so closely that when next she falls into a hole, I might slip into it
along with her; I fear that I'm too weak to pull her out.

And then I think, we've got this. We' are talking about us, the
captains of our destinies and sisters joined by common histories,
a tie that binds us tightly. We can show the scars, but won't.

And if we fell, we/d sit there in the dark and cool, the musty earth
a temporary harbor from the furies of the storms of life
and we would laugh at how our squeals (when something having many legs
dropped right into our laps) were like the squeals our children used to make
when they were playing outside and we sat in shady chairs and listened
as we drank iced tea and talked about the way that it would be when we were old.

And when we'd rested, we would climb. Or I would give a boost (she's tiny)
and she'd scramble out, and find a rope to throw me. Admittedly, I might be
worried that when I made it to the surface, she'd have run, but this I know,
if nothing else: my legs are older, but they're  longer. I could catch up
quickly, well before she'd had the chance to run too far.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014