I find her.
In the spaces of my mind,
in the lampshade beside me,
in the quiet traces she’s left behind.

She’s the painting in my guest bedroom,
the scent in my diffuser,
the last number dialed on my phone.

She’s the flowers growing in my yard,
and the pages of the journal on which I write.

She’s the floor that held me when I sank,
the arms that kept me whole.

She’s the laundry that was made,
and the bed that was tended.

She’s the trip that saved my soul,
the goddess of spring,
in the darkest season of my crone.

She’s seen the best of me,
in the worst of me,
and loved me through them both.

I find her.

In the calls we shared without words,
in the nights we lay awake,
dreaming of futures not yet ours.

She’s my blood by covenant,
a friend by chance,
a sister by choice.

In the news I cannot wait to tell,
In the grief I cannot bear,
In those moments I dial a familiar tone,
I find her.