Ramadan Day 7 Light Years

for m.y. & a.l.




then. the music of i don’t know wound its way within me.

a me practicing piano at nine. stopped by seventeen.


you were fifty, then sixty, snow white hair and dwarfing me.

help me. you said. i know you understand. i’m a woman


trapped. in this body. memorized by sound. a book of notes.

addressed. to me. as a child did i only play at being a man?


your star is not still but still shines in the galaxy of my eyes.

my father died. you told me it would take away something


from me that i could never recover. the 10 downtown smelled

of rubber. you were like me once. i leaned forward throat-first


but all those years of practice with my sense of secrecy intact.

how could i know i’d return from grief. your pillow held under


one arm. your water bottle in hand. thailand was a success.

you said. you felt young again. you said. the disco ball hung


like a planet. a dance of slick and sweat. two women. named.

after you and i. now. the way my fingers slipped from one key


to the next. we are the same people. only practiced at grief.


-light years between us




“We have this impossibly short time to try to do something good. At least, we can create a little love, a little joyousness and a little warmth around us.” -a.l.


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