I met a woman at a familial wedding.
She dominated the room she entered with the sheer weight of unspoken knowledge.
Experience filled her eyes but kept it’s lines from her face,
Allowing a depth of gaze without wisdom’s claws pulling down against her flesh.
She was wrapped in dignity,
And those that glanced would find themselves pause,
And wonder,
Had they ever stood so tall, so proud?
I met a woman at a wedding.
We sat beside another at the table.
Her sister asked if I would like another, and I offered my glass and drank,
Losing myself in the words of my companion,
Forgetting my soberness,
Unable to turn away from what she was saying.
She told me of the world, of the languages she spoke, of the places she’s visited.
We spoke of grandness,
Of futures and pasts.
I met my sister once,
There in the shadow of night as the moon trained it’s eye on us,
With champagne and wine and laughter,
Where I found myself asking questions again and again,
And she found herself smiling
And quietly telling me all I wished to know.