At times like this when
a friend needs me to
share her birthday with . . .
I’m washing my hair.
Else preoccupied
with some other thing
so miss, once again,
a chance to hug her.
At times like this I
lean on Facebook posts
where every photo
reminds me, that could
be my arm in hers—
holding Francie’s leash,
marrying couples,
(burying corpses) . . .
sharing a drink or
a grandchild’s laughter
or some music fest
at Laughing Horse Lodge . . .
in fact, her wedding
anniversary:
a return yearly
to celebrate that
one moment in time
when a twoless twine
illumines the dark
and love whispers, Thine.
At times like this I
miss being there but
must ooh and aah for
feeling being . . . here.
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