Poem 2 The Two Sisters The afternoon sun warmed the little path, where patches of light danced beneath the trees. And two sisters walked side by side, the older one a head taller, their sleeves brushing as they went. They tried to finish a silly story, but every few words dissolved into laughter. The little one was still catching her breath when a faint cry reached her somewhere in the distance. She turned her head to listen, and though she smiled along, her eyes lingered in another direction. The sound faded. She returned to their laughter, hoping whatever she had heard had passed. But then it came again. Louder this time, strained and jagged. The little one looked one way, then another, following the sound until she found someone folded inward, each breath rising unevenly. She watched with widening eyes, waiting for the cries to soften, or for some small sign that the hurt was easing. But they continued, each one more difficult to hear. As naturally as she had turned to listen, the little one's fingers stretched toward the cries. Her arms followed, then the rest of her— before she knew how deep the hurt ran, or whether she could help. The older sister knew that distant look. Usually, if she gave it time, the little one found her way back to the laughter. But this time, she hadn't. The older one followed her gaze and saw the figure folded in pain. She heard the cries now, too, and her own expression softened. She had seen those hands reach before, then held them when they came back hurting, while the cries went on. So she bent beside her little sister, resting a hand upon her shoulder. Beneath her resting hand, she felt the slightest shift— a familiar leaning forward. A moment more, and the little one would be running toward the cries. Carefully, she wrapped an arm around the little one's waist, before her feet could follow. The little one pressed her feet into the path, leaning against the arm around her waist. Her shoulders lifted as she reached, fingers stretching as far as they could, as though another inch might bring her close enough. Another cry rose in the distance, ragged, breaking between breaths. She pulled again before the cry had faded, her shoes scraping against the path. The older sister shifted her footing, her heels pressing into the earth. She felt the stretch along her arm as the little one reached farther still. She looked toward the one folded in pain, then down at the little girl in her arms, whose eyes had begun to fill with tears. The little one turned toward her, her lips parting as if to speak. One hand still reached toward the cries; the other caught her sister's sleeve, tugging it gently in the same direction. She looked up into her sister's eyes. Surely there was something. Anything. The older sister's eyes filled, too. She drew a breath, as though searching for an answer, but only held her a little closer. The little one felt the quiet firmness of the arms that would not let her go. Above them, the leaves stirred in the breeze. Sunlight slipped between the branches, settling upon their shoulders, their sleeves, and the little fingers still reaching into the warm afternoon air. The cries continued. And for a lingering moment, the two remained there— one straining toward the suffering, the other holding her close, while the sorrow grew and gathered in the arms that reached and the arms that held. Slowly, the little one's arms began to sink. Her fingers lingered in the air, still half-open toward the cries, before their weight drew them down. The older sister felt the pulling ease. She loosened her hold, but did not let go. The arms that had kept her sister from reaching now simply held her near. The little one looked toward the suffering again. She still did not know what was needed, or whether there was anything her small hands could have offered. Her sister had no answer either. For a while, neither moved. The afternoon remained warm, their shadows resting together upon the sunlit path. The little one leaned into her sister, her hands hanging at her sides. The older one rested her cheek against her hair, her eyes still wet. They stayed close, while the sorrow woven through them all had nowhere yet to go.