I’m trying to write something for my sister’s birthday so I’ve been hunting for photographs to remind me of when we were growing up. While I was looking I found the book containing poems I’ve written over the years, and one of them reminded me of old friends so I thought I’d share it with you.
I wonder where they are;
all those friends from my past,
Barbara and Eileen and John.
I know where Marion is. Dead.
Killed by a melanoma at forty two.
But the others have faded -
just names and vague memories;
faces floating indistinctly in
the mind’s eye.
If we met again would I be disappointed?
But I would risk disappointment
to see Margaret again.
Her memory is vivid – face of the
sixties – her letters with
their tiny drawings – her desire
to be free – unfettered by tired
Not someone to join Friends United.