I wish I had a friend
who liked walking in the dark
she would come knock for me at the door,
the way
my seventh grade friends did
when we went to the lake in winter
after I’d washed the dinner dishes
left to dry on their own
snowy sky
skates slung over our shoulders
we would make our way to the
frozen lake
the wood fire
the boys
as a young mother,
children off to sleep,
I and my neighbor friend
(who is long dead,)
would meet out on the sidewalk
humidity down
oak leaves at peak growth
perfect measure of
gossip and wisdom
“how to get rid of a sinus headache;
wonder how much the new people paid for their house”
cicadas chirp their primal calls
the only other sound,
low timbre of our voices
these days I’d be satisfied with a brisk, brief neighborly walk
my adventurous friend and I would breathe in the crisp cold night
lungs strong
report on our days
philosophize
(free-form the way I did as a child)
excited talkers
intent listeners
I see a woman standing at her kitchen window
she’s washing dishes
lost in thought
lost in the golden light and steam
wishing for stars.
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