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.