Pat
I’m having airplane dreams the kind you can’t drop out of no matter the height like I dreamt I met a black woman who told me how lucky I was to be white I called her an angel and then a black woman when she asked me again because she was both I swear she could have taken my hand or led me anywhere that day
I came here to mourn and I got that part down pat My friend is dead dead dead No more Little Italy for either of us and we won’t be texting tomorrow either Maybe what she was trying to tell me was how to live better than she did Or maybe she wasn’t saying anything at all I’ll never know
At the house where she used to laugh the wind rode up whipping all of a sudden The awnings shook It felt like it might storm at any minute
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