My Old Friend
Sheltering in place
alone in my
little home, time
spent on the
phone becomes a
lifeline. Telephonic happy
hour with you
summons my old
friend, regret. After
we disconnect, my
thoughts wander as
stars bloom in
the night garden.
Who knows why
we do the
things we do?
Things that lead
to sheltering alone
when we might
have been together,
riding out this
storm in sweet
companionship, rather than
160 miles apart,
speaking in hushed
tones, punctuated by
your laughter, honey
and ginger, my
jokes, telegraphing smiles
via wireless signals
that dance with
the blooming stars.
