Sunday, March 19, 2006

Unexpected Corsages

She writes me of Death's impending
trip through her doorway, this woman,
this once girl-woman, my old roomie.
She has prepared her Will, settled
her affairs; she's ready, she tells me.

I never expected this in my fifties,.
Wrinkles, gray hair. Not this..these losses
she cried, when ovarian slowly etched flesh
from her sister's pale, rising bones.

During our poverty-stricken graduate school
years, we stuffed extra rolls into our bags
for next morning's breakfast, wore cheap
jeans, blouses and sweaters with frayed seams.
We danced, loved, crammed till well after midnight,
giggled, cried, told each other secrets, but

my friends are slowly slipping away.
I press them into the bed of my memories,
like a corsage of colorful flowers, saved
when the big dance is finally over.


for Ella Ruth, Malley, Sandra, Skeet, Don, Carlton, Dale, and most of all, right now, for Pat.


Michael Parker said...

This is beautiful, Pris! Just beautiful.

Pat Paulk said...

Love the contrast between the vibrant, life filled picture and the tone of your poem.

Pris said...

Thank you both!

J. Andrew Lockhart said...

I'm sitting by a window washed with cold rain - how fitting --- I really like it - it makes you want to smile and cry at the same time -

Pris said...

Andrew, what a nice reaction.