Young girl friends of mine
before the sex claw
pinched and scratched.
Sweet Jeanne.
Afternoons spent together on your screened-in porch,
talking for hours, dabbling in youth.
You cried when I beat you
in the Spelling Bee.
I cried because you cried.
We held hands when your Dad died.
Wild Shirley.
An imaginary horse, I chased
you around the playground.
Skipped lunch with you,
ran through fields of daffodils,
wove crowns for our heads.
Jeanne, we were teens
when I saw you working in a department store.
Your dyed hair unrecognizable,
face thick with makeup, lip gloss,
barely able to restrain the disdain
for your nerdy friend.
Turned to a phantom customer
when I greeted you.
Shirley, a cheerleader moved to another school,
embarrassed when I said hello.
Your makeup pancaked me,
friends gossiped your reputation.
Ran away as fast as you could
from your nerdy friend,
cartwheeling my heart.
Were we to find ourselves
in rockers now,
miraculously living
in the same old folks' home,
would we be friends again?
Originally published in Spindrift Magazine