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Inconvenient Sisterhood



I pulled into a convenience lot to fuel.

She was hunched over the cans in-between the pumps;

drinking what she could find discarded.

She was an observation in self destruction once dotting youth,

a tint of beauty still present in her uncombed flax.

Without question pulled a few dollars from my bag.

“Here” I said, “take this.”

She quickly replied, “Thank You.”

I stepped through the doors of the store, she followed.

I went for a bottle of water; she went for the largest bottle of beer.

I asked, “are you hungry, what would you like?’

“Milk please,” she said, clinching to the beer.

I paid for my water, my fuel, her milk.

I left looking back, as she walked away with her freedom.

I have avoided the convenience of going back to that store.

My heart wanted so much to fix her.

My mind knew I could not.



copyrighted 2008