For My Friend

Annette Kalandros

January 26

Image is courtesy of Montesori Rocks

A gray morning starts the day. 
A light dusting of wet snow  
greets me and the dogs 
before my coffee and breakfast 
can have a say in the matter. 
 
And you are no longer  
in this world 
to see the same sky 
or to visit me here. 
 
The last twelve years 
we made up for 
the lost years of the forty-eight 
we've been friends-- 
Our marathon talks about our kids, 
our hopes and worries for them, 
the birth of your grandchildren, 
the death of my wife, 
the blasphemous betrayal of aging-- 
all our griefs and our celebrations. 
 
Sharing, as adults, the things 
We could not share as kids, 
how we survived the fog bank 
attack of our mother's hearts 
upon our own to live our lives 
in the sunlight of the earth. 
You were the one to word it best- 
Like the little girl with the curl  
in the middle of her forehead: 
When they were good,  
they were very good 
and when they were bad, 
they were horrid. 
 
How often, always it seems to me, 
you bested me in our repartees of humor and wit, 
until I did cry, Uncle, I give!  
The two of us laughing, 
fighting hard to catch our breath. 
 
In the end, your body betrayed your spirit. 
I would rewrite your ending if I could. 
I'd write you healthy for years to come, 
running and playing with your granddaughters, 
seeing graduations and weddings— 
Of course, selfishly, 
I'd write you many visits 
to see me here in this mountain paradise 
of a place where I am blessed to be. 
Where we'd sit— 
you sipping your Jameson Irish Whiskey 
and I my glass of wine, 
as we laughed and teased each other 
in our merciless way. 
Then you'd talk of your son  
and I my daughter, 
what motherhood meant, 
and how we survived our own mothers. 
I'd write you happiness, 
finding love with an Andy Garcia 
look alike who would worship you. 
I'd write your ending 
with a pain free body,  
sitting in the sun  
while you watched 
your great-grandchildren at play. 
Finally, selfishly, 
I'd rewrite feeling your absence  
from this world.