Across The Salt Water

There are some days that she calls,

purely for the sake of hearing my voice:

my rich tones that feed the soul, like tea

dripping gently down the gullet after

a warm swallow.

We sit,

stare, talk as if we really were sitting there,

side by side,

even though we are side by side

in some roundabout way. No such luck for

speaking thoughts straight

from mouths to ears to minds without Facebook eavesdropping,

but thank God for it.

I will cut Mark Zuckerberg a portion

of our laughter - profits - if needs must,

for we share plenty.

Thank God for her, sweet shepherd of souls,

beacon of light and calm in those raging storms.

And still home to so much joy, I call her

“safe”, call her “sister” as I did choose,

or as Fate did. We were meant.

Divine intervention or just the stars aligning getting their shit together -

it was meant.

Hers is a voice that echoes in my head,

when my ship is plunging through the sea,

when I am so full to the brim with salt water

it overflows.

She calls me home.

Even from so far away, she makes me know

that I will make it there.