Wow!!! I love both of these expressions of friendship, and your poem captured the mood of our time together perfectly. I’m so thankful for friendships that feel like no time has passed even though seven years has zipped by. I wish we could have extended the time over coffee too. :-) Maybe on the west coast. Xoxo
Just this week I’ve been thinking about my lifelong childhood friend…we hit the 50 year mark for our friendship last year and only this year did it occur to me that we need a 50 year Friend-anniversary adventure to mark the occasion. 💜Your poem is lovely! 💜
A pleasure, Mary. Ian was a friend in a million, from 1957 to 2015. We were 15. He: 200 pounds, bulging biceps, me: 140 pounds, shy, skinny as beanpole. He picked me up and ran with me - for 58 years!
Mary, I love your poem…you are both lucky to have the gift of a friendship rekindled. I think as our kids grow older and more independent, it’s the perfect time to renew friendships that have lapsed. 💜
I’m so glad you loved the poem. I feel so grateful for your readership and your insight. It makes so much sense that as our kids grow we lean back into our friendships. ❤️
Oh, I love both of these poems, and this line in yours: "Seven years is a flipped page
Seven years is a lifetime." How lucky we are to have friends who know us, no matter how much we may have changed. Thank you.
Thanks for reading Verna! I’m so glad it resonated. How lucky we are indeed!
Wow!!! I love both of these expressions of friendship, and your poem captured the mood of our time together perfectly. I’m so thankful for friendships that feel like no time has passed even though seven years has zipped by. I wish we could have extended the time over coffee too. :-) Maybe on the west coast. Xoxo
Definitely!
Women's friendships ... golden!
Friendship at 8,000 Feet
“I want to go back. You know the hike –
the one where we saw the moose and her young.”
Had been years since we balanced across that log,
made the hill climb up to the ridge, followed the creek
into moose meadows toward the saddle.
Taking pictures, telling stories,
me catching my breath.
Longed for another memory
to add atop a well-preserved stack
built over years.
Some recorded in yearbooks, some in scrapbooks,
others in Christmas card photos.
All stored in my heart.
That’s how life-long friendships are.
They contain the cairns along life’s path,
signposts on the journey,
significant turns where we could have lost our way,
but didn’t.
I’ve catalogued ups
and downs,
anticipated reunions that defy absence.
And relished how kind age has been to both of us.
By the luck of the draw, matching big with little sisters,
you got my name, or was it I got yours?
What I won’t forget: You and me
singing in the back of the team bus
every verse of Don McLean’s “American Pie.”
Obviously, an omen.
That’s how our story began.
Teenagers in cheer skirts.
High school years woven together.
Sometimes sharing boyfriends.
We had no idea at 16
what conversations we’d have at 66.
Or how important it would be
that we knew each other’s parents.
That we shared a childhood in a small town
with familiar street names,
Webb’s Drug Store, the Milk Depot.
Gridiron sidelines, stands full of fans,
scoreboards, Homecoming parades,
and summers teaching rambunctious children
to make lanyard keychains.
There were graduations and good-byes.
College and careers.
Launching adulthood.
We both left that small town behind.
Marriages celebrated
and ended. Only to have love blossom again.
Moves across country,
separate states, shared lives.
Children and no children, stepchildren,
and grandchildren.
Reasons to gather –
and no reasons needed
when adventure was promised.
And adventures we’ve had!
We saw Yellowstone from the summit of Mt Washburn,
hiked up Baldy in the heat of summer to get a cocktail,
scared off bears in Alaska,
watched Trumpeter swans
preen on a fishing lake in Montana.
You were my refuge,
grilling seared ahi in freezing temps
creating a special 50th birthday
the year I found myself single again
bereft and alone.
A secret-sister language.
Knowing what’s needed when.
Welcoming me home. Tucking me in.
Getting out a jigsaw puzzle.
Helping me laugh again.
Safe and loved.
Like yesterday,
as I came back across the log above the creek.
Feeling a smidge unsteady with miles of dust under my feet,
you crossed first –
turned back,
watching with care,
your hand outstretched,
just in case.
You collect things and shop at Costco.
I rarely have more than a meal or two
in a mostly empty fridge.
You’re never without three newspapers scattered.
I stack two books neatly at my bedside.
God-or-something knew on that fateful day
drawing names from a bowl
that we would be the perfect mix of
similarities and differences
To still be hiking together at 8000 feet
fifty years later.
Karen Bonnell, Sept 2022.
This is beautiful Karen. Thank you so much for sharing it here. Your poem vividly captures so much gratitude along with gorgeous memories.
Just this week I’ve been thinking about my lifelong childhood friend…we hit the 50 year mark for our friendship last year and only this year did it occur to me that we need a 50 year Friend-anniversary adventure to mark the occasion. 💜Your poem is lovely! 💜
I can’t wait to hear how you choose to mark the occasion. 🥰
OMGoodness, Sherri. TY : )
A pleasure, Mary. Ian was a friend in a million, from 1957 to 2015. We were 15. He: 200 pounds, bulging biceps, me: 140 pounds, shy, skinny as beanpole. He picked me up and ran with me - for 58 years!
I love this detail so much. Thanks for bringing him to life and sharing with me. It is beautiful.
In memory of my loved old friend Ian
Village-camped in the south of France, after the first night’s kip
You made a face, looked at me, said, “My piles are giving me jip.
You couldn’t find a chemist’s, mate, get me some medication?”
I’d spotted one on our way here, just downhill from the station.
I found the place and in I went, and then began to wonder
How I’d tell him what I wanted, because piles wasn’t under
Word lists learnt at school from a French Course for Modern Boys,
And I realised then I’d have to mime and adopted thus a poise
Offering my hind quarters and pointing to my cleft
In a movement that I hoped to be unambiguous and deft.
My gestures suitably eloquent, the good man understood,
And disappeared to get a cure, a potion I hoped would
Soothe your bottom, calm your crack and stop at last your groans,
But what he offered was a box, and inside were white cones.
I pointed with a puzzled frown and gave a Gallic shrug,
So then his turn had come to mime: the insertion of a plug.
The deed was done, we grinned, I paid, but wished that I could end
By miming “It’s not for me, Monsieur, but a very needy friend.”
Andrew…thank you for sharing your poem here.
Mary, I love your poem…you are both lucky to have the gift of a friendship rekindled. I think as our kids grow older and more independent, it’s the perfect time to renew friendships that have lapsed. 💜
I’m so glad you loved the poem. I feel so grateful for your readership and your insight. It makes so much sense that as our kids grow we lean back into our friendships. ❤️
Love, Love, Love these poems on friendship. So different and yet intertwined in a loving bond. I breathe in the love you both share. Thank you
Thanks for reading Kathy! I’m so glad you liked the poems.
Love your poem ♥️
I’m so glad. Thanks for reading Rachel!
Gorgeous poems! Thanks so much for sharing them.
I’m so glad you liked them.
Gorgeous poems! Thanks so much for sharing them.
This poem makes me miss you madly. 💕
Awww!!! 🥰
Delightful 💗💗
Thanks Claire!
Loved these. Especially “the kindest mirrors” ❤️
I’m so glad Sara. Thanks for reading.