Tag: old friends

As I approach the river in the fog
a heron takes flight, dark winged angel.
“Good morning, Mom.” I say.
Since her death, I greet
each heron and feel blessed 
by the sighting. Mom’s love
of nature saved my life.
 
When sun sparkles
on saltwater and I feel 
the wash of waves,
Jamie, my summer brother, is near.
As teens, we surfed September breakers 
then collapsed onto the sand
laughing always
laughing.

All my old boyfriends are
dead (except the one I live with.)
Maurie, lifted his 6’4”
frame into the boat like a wet otter,
his homely face offset by
a quick wit.  His farm town 
roots were exotic to this suburban girl.
He believed withdrawal would work.
Good thing we broke up.

John, a handsome bad boy,
drove his dad’s T-bird. 
Had a wicked sense of humor.
His mother looked like Bloody Mary.
He was my first male obsession.
He rose at Jamie’s funeral 
to hug me, share our grief
for old times, old backseats
old friends.

Ann died last year.  Forty years
of friendship, knitting and laughter. 
Each project and strange new style
prompts me to call her. 
Each knitting success is hers.
In New Mexico, when Linda 
decided to drive - Ann and I  
jumped in the back seat.
I am still laughing.