How to Speak to an Old Friend

“Begin general, become specific.” A worn teacher once said Now the dial beeps …/…/…………/

And I wonder why no one has ever taught me how to speak to an old friend

One separated by seas, By I didn’t see this, woah

Sorry sorry sorry, does it work to call now?

A silent prayer for a call busy signal

Because

I should not tell her about a new soup recipe when she doesn’t even know I own a pot

The elasticity of time is all of the sudden

Feeling rigid, coiled around my finger And the passing of minutes is days

Years

Comfort Transparency Deliverance

Angst sets in, a pillow pushed against my stomach recollecting in high-speed a life once lived

Opting to arrive at an anecdote, a thought even That has maintained relevance

I no longer feel so relevant

Laughing at a mother’s bike-basket that holds many children and has taxi painted on it Things purchased, things seen Characters and selves that have faded in and out in the time it takes for a call-waiting line to answer

A whisper enters stage right, an opening line “I can’t talk louder, I’m in the library”

One voice in a world of words

I am curious if the books she’s reading are more interesting than what I will say

In the loose ties of a dis-connecting phone line

One touch of a dog’s fur

Quick and easy. A secret while the walker’s back is turned pushing at the atm

Connection circulates us

I started putting coconut oil in my hair

It’s softer now

Uhmhmm, yeah

Cool.

At once it was time that made gaps

Now it’s space and the difference between zones and globes and

A marking on the map shows --you are here-- is not such a fallacy because where you are is probably where you ended up

I start to wish that maybe something dramatic happened to Make known that distance is a drama

And life is tales

Tempting to let my name go down as a missed call

And now it’s jarring that if I changed my name

It wouldn’t change me, she wouldn’t know

I’ll just say I did to see what happens the doctor in the background calls out ייייייליל הענ

Do you hear that?

Memories are a buoy

Through which we can continue to float Someone once-had

Isn’t caring enough to undergo a breakage

A call, like an essay for points to be proven

And a sloppy grade

A rushed comment on the top Great sentence structure, kid

Sounds like life is going good

Anna

Zarchi

Your Arm in Mine

I never see it until I look behind me

Daisies trampled on the ground hurts when you’re the one that grew them

I think there might be something wrong with me

But I think I did the right thing

When did the sharp pain fade to a numbing throb to a friendly hug and a I can’t wait to see you again?

Intense dislike, followed by tolerance

Grew into adoration, fascination

I always hugged you from behind Your shoulders perfectly hunched

A battle of wills, the most stubborn of minds

You once wrote to me in a letter that I am the most willing to do anything for those I love but somehow I also need everything to go my way, and you couldn’t reconcile that I couldn’t reconcile you.

You were 19, I turned 19 that day

A split, a heart wrenching gap between those who were inseparable

Or maybe we were separable

Of course we were, we were barely glued together Only years of limited company could do that The hatred didn’t come back, but the pain did Crying in the back seat of a car

With music I hated blasting from the front And music I loved bleeding inside of me

No one saw

And neither did you, though you weren’t there There was no witness to my tears

I hardened my will and put up a wall

A line

Did I talk to you at all that one September day everyone came to my house?

I don’t think so, not a word

I went on.

And when everyone came to my house again, perhaps the last time all seven of us would ever be present in the same room again for the next few years, we spoke And we sang

How many years? You asked, and I wagered 5. 27, and maybe we’ll all be in a room again.

You take your tea hot, and I take mine with a quarter of room temperature water

Three years until I realized you knew Not that you remembered

Just that you knew.

Your warmth next to me in that hall, coming back to finish what we started.

Your arm in mine, clutching on for dear life as we walk out.

I look back

Our last look.

I’m not coming back, I say, and together we turn around and walk away again, forward, arms still linked. I look back, and I cannot remember when the wound healed and the cracks mended and why I am holding your arm and your head is on my shoulder.

The daisies were still trampled, but new ones were grown. I looked back and decided to give peace a chance.