who waited at bus stops and allotted sections of the grand church where each of us would live if we did,
who proclaimed on cell phones "so this is our stop" to signal the end of our glorious conversation,
who made each other dinner with strawberry spinach mozzarella salad and chick breast glazed with olive oil and covered in nan,
who watched game of thrones and fell asleep,
who watched old boy and grew horrorsome at the sight of those terrors,
who stared at a cement block and grew sad at our rupture,
who wrote poems at alterra,
who threatened to throw chairs off roofs,
who car magnetized themselves and laughed harder each time the car reversed,
who washed each others dishes,
who watched the avengers and felt like kids with their candy and wonder,
who spontaneously wrote vocal orchestras in a vibe on brady street,
who told eachother childhood dreams and nicknames in a living room, dialogues moving freely, like wind.
we will not have a tombstone.
ReplyDeleteIf we do, tombstones won't mean death but just a physical representation of what an idea is.
So, if that is what a tombstone is, this poem will be on it. And out faces will be etched onto it. And Kevin's non-bendy-knee walk will be drawn into it as well.
I love this ode. I love this ode and feel so special to have it written for the foursome. Thank you, Essa.