Sarah

15 years
have passed

but yesterday
I asked her

if she could
give me a call

and
within
minutes

she did.

Her voice is
like a different

time from a
separate version
of a far away
life.

The comfort
is
concise.

We had the same
jobs as teenagers

at K mart and
Portillos. We

always watched
movies in a finished
basement with a
fish tank

in it, Dr. Pepper and
chopped salads.

We shopped at
old navy. She

taught me how to
write my first
poem.

I remember
titling my first
notebook at 21

“The complete
works of
myself.”

I want to
ask about her Mom,
her siblings, her

cousins.
I remember all
of their names and

what they liked
in school.

In a way we
will always be

going on sixteen.

Listening to
Godsmack with
college boys and

Marlboro Reds.

That desperate
kid inside just
trying to shut up

to seem like
I want them to
think that I seem.

Grounded and
ungrounded.

Dumped and back
together.

Hot summers &
giant grocery
lists from her Mom.

A golden retriever puppy.
I would cry on the
floor in the kitchen

over my boyfriend
with her Mom while she
was up all night
trying to potty train

that dog. She used
to say to me late
at night

“Someday I promise –
this isn’t
going to matter.”

Her Mom was right –
and that took what it
took but

there are elements
of connection that
as I get older

from before
cannot be
replicated.

She called me within
two minutes to give me
advice.

To tell me
I wasn’t alone

and in that few
minutes where she
listened to me I

realized
that I come from
many places,

and situations and
relationships –

and as I get older
the ones
that built

the best aspects
of my character

resurface and
re present
themselves.

Her voice is
strength. It
is my voice

when I’m having
a good day and
feeling aware

but
if I’m not I
can ask her
to call me

just to hear
where I

come from.

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