Friday, November 25, 2016

My Little BLACK Book

In search of stones
to adorn the graves of those I have left behind—
it is true, you were once a friend,
now I can only mourn you
as a sweet wind mourns the pines,
for once you were very present in me,
and I could not forget your preferences
in music and in lunch, out-of the way haunts,
they were paramount to our keeping,
the bonding crafts that kept our hands busy.

I thought today, perhaps if I send you this note,
you will remember the good times we have had,
the griefs we have forgotten,
and take me out of the cupboard of your heart,
dust me off, and revive me.

Emily Isaacson