She gets it. She gets the hallowed places of their hearts, the pain, the whispers,the imprints of fear as the coffee is poured into chipped tea cups on the hearth She sees the fire burning in the pen, sheets of desire, flung crumpled in the bin Circular women around taking up each others’ cadences,holding each others hands as we wave goodbye,jumping on our sailboats, we never steer, we are buffeted in the wind,held up by each other’s voices. She loves the sound, the stories, the laughter, the bittersweet, She remembers the blue, the smiles, the tired winks, the break out joys to fling around maypoles, our colorful striped ribbons,we all admired each others’, I like her blue, he likes her purple, royal kings’ color, and sparkly yellows and their browns We all mix mingle our stories so alike she says yet different Like us, striding off to our castles, sweeping and painting,and hiding Reading secret leather bound books, sharing recipes of laughter,kinship of tears,She hears with her heart,yes these hearts songs of love, Remembrance of hugs, of goodbyes,She is in the trenches and this group is the cool handkerchief to her brow.