—TO A FELLOW STUDENT
I thought about you a lot.
I still do.
You sat still,
your hands clasped on your lap
like a schoolchild.
You were allowed to cry
because you have been true
to your grief.
I saw you today
sitting in the same way,
the same tears on your cheeks,
as if you had not moved
in all these years –
the same bad headache
in your right eye,
the same housefly
trying to fertilize your lips.
Old friend, you’re a mess
by every measure
except the ladder of love.
Leonard Cohen
(those last three lines tear me up every time.)
