Sharon A Gibbs
For years, our unspoken promise—
meet each school day at Park and Weston.
We clutched books ‘til red lines formed
in the soft places of our arms.
Our return home, a break at
your cousin’s service station.
His grease-stained hand pulled out
ice-cold bottled Orange Crush.
For years, we sipped the sweet—
hung tight to trust under the vocals
of The Eagles, Peter Frampton, and
Joan Armatrading.
Sprawled on your bed,
we thumbed Sears and Roebuck.
You let me borrow your flouncy white blouse;
I felt like a poet in it.
For years, we rummaged through
garage sales and flea markets,
breathing musty smells as we
handled chipped Blue Willow.
That last summer, we sat in our tans and cut-offs,
dangled our feet in the lake.
You chose adventure;
I traded mine for a wedding ring.
For years, we planned to keep in touch.
If I dropped my intention, I didn’t mean to.
How did this friendship tiptoe away
so quietly?
Now I rummage through the shelves of my life
searching for one missing volume.
6 Comments
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Keeps me wondering…love the rhythms
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If we could all keep writing on the pages of our friendship stories–what a wonderful thought.
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We sat in our tans and cut-offs <– my favorite bit
Such bittersweetness. Thank you for sharing!
Blessings.
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Do you have memories of jean cut-offs? And circling dangled legs in the lake? Writing this poem has given me a new appreciation for keeping in touch my friends. Blessings.
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Wish we could go back for a week. Wouldn’t that be fun? xox
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It certainly would! Even the silliness of going to the Gloria Stevens salon. Remember those leotards?
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