Tears catch in my throat where
a few hours earlier
acid burned fiercely.
Anxiety versus pain, there is
not much in between these days.

For the moment, peace:
two birds on my head, grooming
a kitten behind my screen.
Cute how she thinks we have
forgotten her,
the predator in fur coat silky white and grey,
pink nose and pink foot pads,
green eyes that miss nothing.

There is much I should do, need to do:
pay bills
write poems
study herbs
read.

Instead
I stare into space.

Images on the screen barely register
as I look up old haunts of amusement,
news,i
nformation ...

And I
remember

what we would do in years past
to pass the time, shake moods such as these:
head out to the coffee shop and
talk, write, share pastry
walk up and down State Street
lingering in store windows, of the
always interesting shop with its crystals and spells
dress shop with the gorgeous floral prints
toy store with beautiful wood blocks
record store with music from generations ago
and from cultures far and wide
all over the world
bookstore holding knowledge
welcoming and beguiling
waiting to be devoured, mulled over and discussed ...
and art supplies! Clay tools and vivid paints,
charcoal and pens and pencils and
so many varieties of paper
welcoming the library’s quiet, cool interior
another world of treasures
you could only borrow,
and the food cart out front with delicious falafel
approaching the student union with its lines of sweater and jewelry sellers out front
and its terrace out back with metal chairs the
colors of falls leaves, and
the lake beyond, brilliant blue shimmering,
flecked in white sails under a blue sky
scudded with clouds ...

Everything seemed possible then
no matter the setbacks we had experienced, then quite a lot for our age
but we were young and invincible
years ahead of us
friendship sacred
unbroken; yet ... familial wounds unknown
and healing untested.

Thirty years beyond then
degrees framed and hung, taken down and hung again until
they, also tired and disillusioned, remained in the box
somewhere
unpacked since the last move.

We are worlds away in four hours
or more, depending,
lifetime experiences apart with one reconciled, another re-met but even more a mystery
and another unmet again.
Others drift in memory and lately, dreams
sometimes near, sometimes far.
A lifetime spent in other languages, cultures,
systems, equipment, realities,
duties, responsibilities ...
uniforms
at that age not even imagined, let alone considered.

I have the language but not the belief.
There is no common ground to which to return.
And even if I would, it could not take. Frankly,
I cuss too much.
I like cussing.

They lied to me. They lied to us all.

I left the cult.
There is no one else left worth knowing.
Those I love most, have gone.

So, tell me. Why does it still hurt?

6/27/2020

edited 7/14/2020