This is a poem dedicated to my best friend. In this poem, I talk about her influence. |
The Link in My Chain She keeps her black coat on when it's warm, She says if she takes it off it will rain. She always keeps her hair tied back, I think she should wear it down once in a while. We always choose the table by the window, so that the struggling May sun streams over us. When we met all those months ago, it was completely unexpected. She became a friend. Now I see her as a sister, we're cut from the same stone. I pierce my fork into the heart of my slice of peach pie. She tells me how her course is going. She is excited. I was when we both started. But I left, when the days became dark. During that time, she was there as no other had been. Her loyalty was a shock to the system, I had never experienced friendship like that before. She shows me her plans for the week. She looks tired. Suddenly she grins at me. 'You worry too much', she says with a tone in her voice that is amused yet gentle. Maybe she is right. Clouds drift unthreateningly along the cerulean sky. We stroll along the river walk talking about everything. I remind her of the clothes we must buy for our holiday. She laughs. She reminds me of a child opening presents on the 25th. But the days are winding down now. Pushing away the black thoughts, I fidget with the strap of my bag. Her voice brings me back to the grassy lane that we have ended on. My father is fond of her. He calls her a firecracker, because of her frankness and her temper. My mother appreciates her kindness. As for me, my chain had rusted through. I shut everyone out. But I won't bore you with that story. She has become a fresh link. A tiny speck of silver that I can see at the bottom of the well. 'Stop staying in your head'. I hear her sternly mumble. She knows me too well. Her eyes meet mine as we arrive at the crossroads. It is not a frightening place now. I feel the wall at my back. A lone robin perches at our feet, cocking its head to gaze at us curiously. I can smell wild flowers nearby. Lunch arrangements for tomorrow are made, she smiles her good byes, then stops to tell me that she'll call me tonight. I finally understand that a true connection is constant contact. Chuckling, I turn my face towards the sun. Purpledot. |