(This poem was published by Otherwise Engaged journal in 2020)
Do you suppose we all have friendships
that sour as surely as buttermilk;
what was once cream risen to the top
turned?
So it was with us: delight
soured to animus. And, so, we
lived out our last collegial years,
intense, at odds.
Years piled onto untidy years
since our unraveling— permitting me,
at the mention of her name,
to emit a disinterested yawn.
Then, she died—
younger than the norm.
And I am
confused
at the whoosh of loss
that flushes my veins.
A sadness seeps in
as I realize a Medusa
figures as largely in a life story
as any Eros, Pandora or Athena.
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