M I R I A M
Vera Linn
I wanted someone who
was gentle
to come like a
medium wind, blowing out
the unformed,
half-made parts,
full of spice, a
person who’d let me
ask lots of
questions, until my need to listen
went dry and I
started talking.
Someone worth
listening to for hours,
someone I could open
my mouth with.
Nothing creepy or
harmful.
Someone who would
like me the right amount.
Do I still want
that?
The table is
cleared,
the pantry is full
of food,
there’s clean water in
the pitcher.
The flowers bloom,
bloom.
I wish that friend
would come on a long
journey,
dust in her
sandals.
Or I wish that
friend would arrive
through letters in
the mail,
ten pages of
handwriting
and butterflies,
drawings
of what it looked
like that night
or of the friend’s
lover or cousins,
I don’t know. I wish she
would make herself known
quietly, I wish she’d show up already.
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Swagazine 9
Winter 2001
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