It’s been a year since I heard her voice.

It was straight and sober for a moment.

But, It wasn’t hopeful.

I said, Happy Birthday–

may you have a better year.

There was a chuckle

A heh heh.

Yeah, you can say that, she said.

It has to be.

That was a year ago today.

There’s been time and space.

Some days I don’t think of her at all.

Some I think of her too much.

I came across a box full of

photos of her: childhood, teens, the early 20s

the times not quite sober but not quite gone either.

In that box was a child of mine. A sister. A friend.

A memory.  Without anger. Without the fear.

Without the tic twitch of the not fully recovered.

Sometimes I wake up wondering where she is

Hoping if she’s alive whom ever she’s with

isn’t overwhelmed; isn’t leaving her.

Side of the road. Side of my head.

The Vagabond is still roaming.