perfect strangers

By Linda Crate

the only thing we say to one another any more

is happy birthday, and i wonder

does that hurt you

as much as it hurts me?

i remember those summer days

when we were young,

the sleep overs and meeting your dogs;

conversations with your grandmother and mother

sometimes when i was in pursuit of you—

i remember waldameer visits,

and going to dinner afterward;

our visits, when you were able to go,

to geauga lake in ohio—

christmas gifts, birthday gifts,

graduation parties,

and everything between;

but after high school and after everything

we had been through together

a radio silence aside from happy birthday messages

on facebook—

i miss you,

and what we once had;

but apparently you’re okay with being ghosts

every year of our youth falling away from us—

i wonder how long it will take for us to become

perfect strangers,

but a part of me already knows

we are.

Copyright© 2020 Linda Crate