We Could Have Been Friends

I like this house

Clean, bright, with an open living space

Well appointed but not gawdy or austentacious

And the books

A lifetime of them

Giant shelves full, built into the walls

Hardcover, used, not abused

Well cared for, respected

Organized, tucked in

Fiction, classic and contemporary

Cookbooks over generations

History Literature Science Politics Geography

Romance – a sliver in the study, a collection in the bedroom


Tasteful art

I notice your silver dessert spoons

A full dozen set

Tarnished, waiting, calling for me to polish and use, to admire every day

So I buy them, a bargain, can’t wait to get home with them

I leave the books; have plenty of my own already

I wonder if we would have been friends

If I had been your neighbor

Or known you otherwise before you left this house, this mortal world?

It’s the story I almost tell

I hope you are at peace somewhere

I’ll take good care of your spoons

14 thoughts on “We Could Have Been Friends

  1. Holy shit! This is so f***ing good! Seriously. I am resorting to academic speak—using the profane to signal the not profane, the sacred and unattainable, but in “We Could Have Been Friends” attained.

    This poem has a home, a house, a fate.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. This and ‘a lifetime of books’ were the two ideas that came to me while walking through the estate sale. It may have been the first time I felt this kind of connection to a house and its former inhabitants. Kind of eerie, and definitely emotional.


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