Turning the corner, there she was. My eyes began to ache
as if I’d just been struck in the back of the head.
There she was.
Most of her head was buzzed, with only a
Shock of dark brunette-dyed tendrils on top.
She had a way of making any look
Work on her, this one included.
I always envied that about her.
She saw me.
And waved. And smiled.
So I walked over.
Her arms stretched out for a hug;
Surprised, I gladly met her with mine
Still the same height as one another,
Still the same name as one another.
Oh how I miss her.
She still spoke with her hands making the most graceful movements,
Feathers caught in an updraft.
Her eyes still Bette Davis proportioned on her
Her Marilyn mole still punctuating her
Dainty upper lip.
We spoke as if we’d never stopped, and when the topic ended she said,
With a smile,
She’d see me later.
It sounded like a promise, although I’m sure I won’t see her again
For another three years.