"See you soon," you said.
I picture you smiling
moon-faced from cortisone.
"Surgery tomorrow," nervous laughing
into the phone, "I'm resting
under a blanket of open books."
At day's end in deep of dreams,
I see your wan smile, again
lips carpet color of wine,
eyes deeper than dark green.
Your rush of words in profuse notes,
your younger face in a frayed photo,
sweet voice, saved
on my answering machine.
A pale pink
gift packet you sent: summer seeds
for vivid wildflowers.
You advised,
"sow early in spring."
"See you soon," you smiled, clean
as moon, quick as earth
trailing stars. The day ends,
and again another.
See you soon.
-- Sandy Steinman