...need to/ be back in the arms of a good friend....
The three-legged cat strolls across the street to lie down on a patch of grass outside my fence, mews, rolls over, begging for attention. Shiloh, inside the fence, whines and barks, infuriated by Smokey's inaccessible proximity. Hello, Smokey, you rotten thing. I stoop to indulge myself in scritching.
I return to the grounds of the Maryland Renaissance Festival, unsure of my stamina but positive of my welcome. The site has always loved me. Had I taken a tumble from the wall in Maryland, a patron would have stepped forward, catching me neatly in strong arms, or a bush would have miraculously appeared where no bush had been before so I walked away undamaged.
Or I perhaps would have floated midair, held aloft by the love that is given to Mimi.
It is returned tenfold, you know.
The Apostle pats me awkwardly. Which is odd, since we're comfortable with one another and he gives the most delicious hugs. "I'm sorry about Ken."
Yeah. He knew Ken less than I, and I not very well, but he knows I loved Ken very much.
No, not loved, love: Still love you, Ken, unburdened as you are by the treachery that was your body. I will miss your physical presence, but oh! there ya are.
It happened Monday. Happy Crossings, Ken.
(Girlfriend; Matthew Sweet)
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