I know a gal
who lives in Alabamy.
She is smart, witty with glasses
reminding me of Ingrid Michaelson.
We met through an art site,
where I stumbled upon her poetry.
Her style–a slow, easy southern
welcome into memorializing life awoke my curious mind.
She had written a journal entry,
challenging anyone to use three words of her choosing in a poem.
I took a risk, politely asking for stretching outside my box.
I sat outside on my grandma’s deck, beginning the task of weaving a piece about a garden and God-
if I remember correctly.
I somehow blew her away.
To this day, I still don’t know
what she saw in those meager words in all their unedited glory.
This has never stopped
my continuos asking,
More words please?
Her hospitality kindly pushing
my dreams up-rain or shine.
A silver lining can always be found.
Don’t give up quite yet,
it will come.
I may never get to sit on this swing,
listening to her strum uke strings she’s s still learning to play.
Maybe close to Be Ok.
Or write a poem in sweet tea sipping, gentle rocking side by side
I do know she’ll never stop embracing me as if distance doesn’t separate kindred spirits.
My heart reciprocating thankfulness
for friendship equally resonated.
Author’s Note: To Rachel–thank you for awakening my love for poetry. For seeing something in me I didn’t see. For always supporting me in this crazy dream. You will forever mean so very much to me.