Dearest Friend

Dearest Friend,

how many years I have
roamed this land
with your name the last
on my mind.

Maybe tomorrow, I’d say,
watching life dictate meaning
in kisses turned slavery.
I was too young to brush
against poison ivy,
but old enough to know the sickness
within its leaves.

I wonder if during long nights,
you itch to give me answers
we know I’ll misuse.
You come close in images
slowly unfolding before
quaking eyelids revealing
fear.

Reverence is not staring
at a closed door and turning
the other cheek, hoping the
constant rapping will fade–
it is facing You, who knows
the blood collecting in these
wintered cheeks
warmed by shame,

taken in
with scratches,
& loved as the first day
knitted in my Mother’s frame.

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2 thoughts on “Dearest Friend

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