Dream of an Ex-Friend
Your face beneath my eyelids,
contorted. I try to remember
your words: sideways mouth,
rage erupting in whirlpools.
In the morning, all that remains
are your eyes and an empty coffeepot.
Familiar sizzle: hiss of water,
steady drip towards wakefulness.
I wonder where you are now,
two time zones ahead, stirring
in your own small bed. That photo
of you and your lover, his hands
protecting your shoulders. The book
of poems you sent me. My final
glimpse of you, face half-covered
in a surgical mask, pushing it aside
between sips of beer. Why have we
allowed thirty years to be trampled
underfoot? It wasn’t me,
or even you. Though I tried to listen,
my dreams offer nothing,
and consciousness only brings spite.
This is a very relatable poem about the conflict that we feel about ex-friends and you have done a good job of weaving in vignettes that give the reader your particular take on the them. My only advice would be to compress the text to single line spacings, with the exception, perhaps, of the second last stanza, where the extra line spacing will emphasize the thirty year gap. Nicely done. Thanks for sharing.