How exactly do you
make
a friend?
Out of the thin air
Out of the faceless crowds
You pick someone
Then come
Delicate first efforts
Some texts, some calls, some online discourse
Soon you can get a little closer
No sudden movements
Don’t scare them off
Feed them frequently
Small gifts
Eventually they trust you enough
To let you into their house
Hug them whenever you want
Get drunk together
Go for nothing drives
Drop by uninvited.
You don’t make a friend.
You tame one.
The older I get
The more time me stretches out behind me
Once I measured my life in weeks
Now I measure in decades.
That milestone, ten years ago
This one fifteen.
I once lived a whole lifetime in fifteen years.
Now I’ve lived two.
Time is a funny thing
It starts out slow
And if you’re not careful
It picks up speed
Like a freight train
Before you know it
You run out of track
So put on the brakes.
Breathe
Savor
And measure
This living moment
In seconds.
Gadzooks! I forgot to post this morning!
the dentist
drills to shave the edge off my crown
raw
agony
blooms
I take myself away.
Relax into the pain.
everything I have learned
from years of dysmenorrhea
comes instantly into play.
Relax.
Relax more.
it’s that or wriggle
and you best not wriggle
under the drill.
it’s not very sensitive, is it? he says.
nooo… that hurt. I reply
and we all have a good laugh.
how strange we humans are.
how trusting.
I open my mouth again
and let him do it
ten more times.
When the world is first frostbitten
tender trees touched in thin ice
When summer shows its back
abandoning you for a faraway land
When winter’s wan face smirks at your peephole
hard fingernails tapping your door
knowing it will soon be strong
enough to crack your lock and let itself in
When everything disintegrates into blue and white and crispy brown
and the wind, mad surgeon, lacerates your summer softened skin
then the clouds part
affording you
one
glimpse
of heavenly light
a welcoming patch in which to stand
When you know you are about to lose it for good
that is when the warmest sun shines
Touch my hand
I will transport you
No more real world
No more problems
Be someone else now
Feel what they feel
Wear
Their
Skin
Isn’t it comfortable
Living vicariously
Isn’t it soothing
To watch someone else suffer
Guilt free
To spy on them in bed
To leer at their relationships
To know all their private jokes
To feel them holding hands
To watch them hurt each other
To watch them hurt themselves
Doesn’t it feel good
To be helpless
To be God
Sarah D. Silvey 