"An Old Friend"

She’s an old friend,   
just a co-worker now—an acquaintance   
We smile when we pass in the hall   
We share complaints about classes, victories with kids   
Lately, she’s lost her smile   
Her usual elegance fades    
Her eyes, downcast as she walks, miss my smiled greetings   
Someone whispers a rumor   
asks what I know—me, the ostrich with her head in the sand   
I look around   
Suddenly I see her loss   
realize her shock and grief   
Stunned, I see them together—       
as she must see them, too       
He sniffs around the other woman like she’s a bitch in heat       
They drive up in the same car       
step out for lunch       
stand together in the hallway       
flirtatiously laughing       
body language that screams—Couple       
What words can I offer?       
advice, as they say, is cheap   
How do I let her know I care   
without letting her painfully realize—   
I know   
(just like everyone else)   
I can talk to her, try to listen, try to be around just a little more   
Her other friends and I can form a safety net   
but we can’t protect her from anger, loss, grief   
We see it in her eyes  
in the way she moves now   
I remember another time when she had no net   
her loss almost killed her    
So, I’ll stand guard

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Just the right song to go with today's poem. 

"Cardinal Flirtation"

 

 

            We have a pair of cardinals nesting in our yard each year. I suspect that the pair we have this year remembers us from last year since they ignore the dogs, barely avoid the squirrels, and linger within sight when I stretch out comfortably in a lounge chair.

            The male teased me mercilessly last night. I saw his brilliant crimson against the green lawn as he cocked his head this way and that. Determined to finally capture him on film, I grabbed my camera and quietly slid outside. I tried to sit off to the side, but soon realized that he kept a distance too far for my camera’s reach. Slowly, I crept under the Live Oak, stopping under the arch our bushes create next to the fish pond.
 

 

            I know, without a doubt, that the cardinal spied me. He flitted flirtatiously from branch to branch, following a pattern of perch, hop, perch, hop, swoop, perch and hop. He circled around me in a predictable display of cockiness. He’d linger along the rooftop, grace the back of one of the wrought iron chairs, and play hide-n-seek among the leaves. His head peeked around leaves and small branches as he challenged me to capture his arrogant pose.

 

            Always just a little behind a branch. Always just a little too fast for my shutter. Always just a tease away from the perfect pose.

 

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Cardinal Flirtation”

 

            We have a pair of cardinals nesting in our yard each year. I suspect that the pair we have this year remembers us from last year since they ignore the dogs, barely avoid the squirrels, and linger within sight when I stretch out comfortably in a lounge chair.

            The male teased me mercilessly last night. I saw his brilliant crimson against the green lawn as he cocked his head this way and that. Determined to finally capture him on film, I grabbed my camera and quietly slid outside. I tried to sit off to the side, but soon realized that he kept a distance too far for my camera’s reach. Slowly, I crept under the Live Oak, stopping under the arch our bushes create next to the fish pond.
 

 

            I know, without a doubt, that the cardinal spied me. He flitted flirtatiously from branch to branch, following a pattern of perch, hop, perch, hop, swoop, perch and hop. He circled around me in a predictable display of cockiness. He’d linger along the rooftop, grace the back of one of the wrought iron chairs, and play hide-n-seek among the leaves. His head peeked around leaves and small branches as he challenged me to capture his arrogant pose.

 

            Always just a little behind a branch. Always just a little too fast for my shutter. Always just a tease away from the perfect pose.

 

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman