. . .
A Poem
. . .
where does the love go between friends
who once had an almost-maybe thing
that slowly settled
into complacent camaraderie
?
where does the love go between two sister-halves
who felt their laughter so deeply
it practically stayed in their bones
until one day they ended up mere strangers
?
where does the love go between parent and offspring:
who we were then
versus who we are now,
trapped inside the plastic of
so many familiar photographs
?
where does the love go
?
is it held in a precious box of cedar
or jacket pocket
or crinkled envelope sealed with melted beeswax
?
does it lie dormant for years on end,
only emitting vapors
in moments of sheer unbridled bliss
?
is it left in another time
in another realm
that exists only in the depths of dreams
?
i ask you, dear reader,
where is this love
?
where
?
for surely a love so pure,
like
two hands clasped in earnest affection;
two greasy pizza plates;
two leftover popsicle sticks. . .
this love remains.
it has to
be in us still
and before us like a calendar page.
i feel your memory fully, and kiss its shy and smiling lips.
i love you, still.
. . .
SnapDragon is a mother, teacher, painter, and writer. She enjoys watching The Big Lebowski by herself and laughing with abandon.
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