We Were Once Lovers and Sisters by Aida Santos

We were once lovers and sisters:
We saw the same moon
rising, from the smog of this city
quartered, then whole, then a bow
stringing stars that shaped the songs
in the same unspoken universe of connection.
We saw the same skies
clearing, darkening, and clearing once more
noted the same spirit of storms
their meanings, their tantrums.
We walked the same beaches
comparing the contours, sizes and shapes
of the shells we picked along the shore,
watched the sun waking from its nightrest
being eaten by the blazing skies -
limitless horizon that sinks before our eyes.
We saw the same mountains
conelike, almost perfect, dotting
this little island province
snapshots taken, we stood together
braving the monsoon wind.
We spoke in the same language
cried at the same scenes of suffering
we touched with gentleness and passion
all in one, loved women the way we loved our friends
and sometimes, even our enemies.
We slept on the same bed
felt the warmth of sleep as flesh
upon each other, soul bonded
into a oneness, caressing each other's pains
as if they were on our skin
breathing, smelling the shaping of dreams.
We woke up every morning
thoughts connecting, as if we spoke
to each other as our bodies rested
through the day's labor
that ended in a little patch
but we woke up nevertheless
one again, two women whose sorrow
comes from shared stories
many moments of tenderness.


Then, I do not understand
this severe disconnecting:
we may lose the erotic
the desire to hold each other as lovers,
crystal clear, we can move on
reshaping lives as merely our own
and nothing more,
reclaiming given spaces
reconnecting them, shaped unto
our desire in an autonomous fashion,
forging them with others, moving on
in search of other connections
of other loves and erotic needs.


Like fruits ripening, we do come to an end
but must we allow ourselves to forget
that once, we were lovers and sisters.