Friends
MiltonI met you only once
at a reading just before the end
you were in the audience
not reading
but I have heard your friends
have read with them upon occasion
They carry your sorrow
like winter in their worker's hands
They carry your sorrow like money-belts
filled with scrap iron
around their middles
or on their shoulders
They carry your sorrow
on plane trips
across this country
into foreign land
They carry your voice
its island shadow
They carry your sorrow
They celebrate your name
and I have nothing to give in memory
except to say
I met you only once
You were wearing a red shirt
But MiltonI know your friends
They wear passion as friends should.
-Yvonne Trainer
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