I wonder if I will always note that this was the date
upon which my friend died now two years ago.
The moon was full that night, there was no drought
and it was certainly not as hot then as it is now.
I saw a colleague of hers the other day
who said he’d thought of her recently.
I think of her every day,
I said and he looked rather startled.
Words and phrases that passed
from her everyday language into
mine and mine to hers I suppose
that is the biggest culprit as we
were both always keen on words.
I noted in my journal that in those last days
out of her head and drugged with morphine
the word poem popped into her ramblings
again and again not so surprising as she
was likely writing one in her head even then.
