Lost and Found

It’s good, here with you you in front me in back the dust behind us You, with your backpack, green and hugging your sweaty body as we chug upwards where even a rock or feather or piece of garbage finds purchase because I say slow down, hold up, wait so I can unzip the side pocket and stuff my treasure or trash or secret into that space and when I finish when I store what I think needs keeping I zip it closed, pat you on the shoulder and say let’s go And then, with the end nowhere in sight, I keep walking and for a long time I wonder why I am here, now with you, why you why not someone else someone else I know And as I step forward I think about those people I think about the friend who has stage 4 lung cancer but still knows Joy And the friend who cooks me stew I think about the friend who runs a non-profit And the one who sent me flowers I think about the friends who have lost their parents who’d lost their pasts; histories burned through by mitochondrial heat I think about the friend who paints gentle landscapes And the one who paints pain across a clean white sheet I think about the friend who was once a lover And the friend whose card never arrived I think about the friend whose guide dog leads her through gardens in a distant land And the friend whose daughter became a man I think about the four friends I have who are doctors Healing the sick, stemming the tide, Catching babies with their gloved hands As a dry wind rises to rinse the sweat from my neck I think of my friends who work to change laws And the friends who protect creatures who walk on all fours I think of my friends who critique my words And all the others who share their words I think about the friend who adopted two babies who have long since grown And the friend in Peru sowing grief on her own I think about a friend who shelters the homeless And another who fixes computers And another who sells computers I think of my friend Igor I think of the two lovelies I met in Mexico As well as the friend who lives in Reno And then while stopping to retie my boots I remember the friends I've had to let go I think of a friend who works for a dentist I think of my friend who is a dentist I think of a friend who lost her two breasts And the too many friends who have lost friends to death I think of old friends who have since become new The poet, the wealth manager, the Microsoft guru And I think of the cousins who happen to be friends too I think of my friend who writes stories for kids And the one who buries the dead without cement lids I think of the friend who at last found her one true love Up ahead I see the lake, the sun spitting across its surface Mayflies, alive for a second, crowding the luminous dermis As we push ourselves toward the crest of the hill I think of the friends I’ve never met I see them I talk to them I write to them, yet I have no idea how they smell I’ve never watched them eat I’ve never seen them walk into the room I have no idea if they cross their legs while sitting or If they pick at their cuticles while chatting on Zoom I think of the many friends who have picked me up As if I were a carelessly discarded gum wrapper or a treasure; a pretty stone that is tucked into the side pocket zipped shut, safe worthy enough to carry like I carry them once we leave the view from up high and head back to the car.