three ladies

one is sitting at a laundromat

way past dusk in the dark

in the middle of the metropolis

with half a glass of white

waiting for the load to be done.

one is on her way to belly-dancing class,

stuck somewhere out there in traffic,

putting past her the death of a friend

while making sure her pup is safe

and not taking apart her apartment

while she’s gone.

the third of the bunch is on the couch

with half of the bottle gone,

gazing across the frozen fields

to motivate daring with dust

and distinguish king from kin.

these three are separate, it is true,

but they’re connected at once as well

by loss of much and learning of more

and friendship way beyond it all.

and so it pulses and pulls and pushes on

toward a common arc

of justice and joy and jubilee

and good news for once and for all.