No one would
believe
you once danced…
held rooms full of eyes
locked, entranced.
I was one of them,
and see you still
spinning
like you just drank
from the spring of Life.
Your sister
and I shared
a picnic table once.
The breeze picked up
when she asked what became
of you.
This breeze became a downpour
and I shoveled the plates
and notebooks
into large fabric bags,
everything soaked…
and we parted company.
Nature had answered for me.
We never spoke of you
again.
There are strange ways
to end your life,
yet even stranger
ways to live.
The latter,
at times
the sadder
of the two.
