The insufficiency of flesh

My sister's hands
enfold her kindness and decency
anchored by hooks
furrowing her body.

Be kind to yourself sister.
I grieve to feel your dear presence
etched cruelly by time.
Wisdom applies not only outside:
a foolish potter
tends not the broken pot
within her house.

Someday soon I will come upon you levitating
a stigmata of liquid arrows
male and female
knitting up your limbs
exhaling fond recipes
of our mother's mother
your days heaping upon themselves
like thistledown.