After 40 years I wonder who will come. The small Catholic women’s college isn’t open anymore. There’s just the building, now a film institute. I’ve come three thousand miles to see a bunch of old women. Knowing they’re old, but still surprised at how old they all look. We look. I sometimes forget to include myself.
trying on a smile–the face in the mirror
not what I want to see
We swap stories about marriages, divorces, death; show pictures of children, grandchildren and pets. Some bragging, some honesty, some return to that free exchange of confidences with a chosen few. My best friend: a little heavier, but the same deep voice and hearty laugh, the same vivacious personality and the same vice.
sharing smokes outside—
all the afternoon heat
in the low brick wall
Frogpond, Winter 2005