I’ve seen late autumn’s half-bare trees against a partly cloudy sky on other birthdays when you were here with me or at times when you were very far away and I remembered you.
I was here at this window all those years–same sky, same sun playing hide and seek with different clouds of different shapes.
You’re five years dead now. Nearly all traces of you have vanished except photographs and souvenirs. There is no marker for you as you merged with the sand and the wind, then sent your spirit soaring to another realm.
So I write another scribble as the gilded five tarnishes to gray to match the fresh paint trim on the house. Two plus three didn’t make us equal. Two initials didn’t join us. Similar views didn’t meld us. But we raced through lexicons of words, and fantasized a thousand scenarios imagining ourselves in countless roles wearing fantastic costumes. They formed a strange but loose bond.
It wasn’t like any other. It probably didn’t have a name. We just were whatever it was and the mold was made. We aged in it–from middle age to old, and then you left and I stay while the music lingers.
(C) Gay Reiser Cannon * November 5, 2021* All Rights Reserved