Sylvia

I wish I could've been there for her.

Sat at the kitchen table, chatted over mugs of coffee.

I would've said, "Take a vacation. I'll watch the baby."

And she would've taken the vacation and come back all refreshed and ready for a new chapter in her life.

She would've dumped ol' what's his name.

Maybe she wouldn't have written as much poetry because of the disappearing sadness, but maybe she would have.

We'll never know.

A poem I wrote for her in college:

You were a daring beauty
whose words ached
liked old bones.
No one could take the pain
so they dismissed you
with blank faces
and sticks and stones.
And you crawled into
the dark places
of your heart
where no one lived.
Nothing was said,
but silence was dead-
like you.