(in memory of Marilyn)
Full moon,
a phone call,
and you’re gone.
You tried to be my friend, but I —
You were so much older, and I —
I let you come a little way,
then drew a line
I remained aloof,
didn’t want to give
yet more
of myself
and now you’re gone.
Never again will you tease me,
call me a pet name,
try to make me do
your bidding—
trying, too hard, to
connect
Never again will I hear you say
‘Come outside and talk’
to which I only ever once
said yes
Never again will your thin fingers
take one careful morsel
from my gluttonous snackbox
Never again will you ask me
for a drug to drown the pain
Now I understand
why you needed it.
Something bursts
— a rush of blood —
and you’re gone.
You were the one person in the room
who could truly see me—
the one person—
and now you’re gone.