We, Being Sisters, Sometimes Love Like This

We, being sisters, are sometimes at a loss
for words. She will sit solemnly, hunkered
in a wicker fit--a basket, she builds
around herself. I don't dare
disrupt her, but instead, drop
my dragnet through the thickened
air. It catches words that linger
there. We, being sisters, are sometimes
at a loss for recognition--each. She doesn't
see that we both weave to relieve ourselves
from everything but this silence
that we sometimes need.