As Mourning Doves Persist

The tuning can only happen if you furrow then unfreeze your face, expose your knowledge, spilling a full bowl into the room where everyone sits so quietly, swallowing all elbows easy, touching, shoulders knowing as we receive the music in his preparation Read a questioning child’s face /  And say it’s not a testament -  Peter Mayer

( an excerpt, originally for Susan ) The heart of friendship is a sturdy daisy and nub of grape  still clinging to fence. Driving coast to coast without ever leaving our chairs. A collage of significant photos. You first cut my daughter’s hair. Our families are each tattooed with grief. A bouquet  of friends on the ever cluttered table. Passive aggressive.  Taken over. A visit when least expected. My nickname spoken with your voice.  We move into new homes, counters stacked with mail.  Trees in need of water. Winter and spring. Our friendship,  a rolling cart on wheels. Recall of playing piano two by two  on a bench as a girl. As if you were always there. Looking for knives and spoons in my mother's drawers.  Vinyl on the turn table. Sitting down to sigh.