All Along We Are Woven
long distance for my sister

This loose net:

Some days we haul in gleams
and slithers of fish,
and our hands are full.

Other days the lines go slack.
We dredge and dredge, and still
only water pours through the gaping holes.

But all along, sister, we are woven:
The crisscrossed limbs, itched with sand
as we bake on our towels. This salty
licking of our lips as we break surface
and breathe.

Poems by Lisa Sitkin: