The Buddhist friend ...

 

The Buddhist friend 

who brought me

this wooden statuette 

back from Cambodia 

(or was it Thailand?)

thirty-plus years ago, told me:

‘It’s conditional. The Buddha 

must be kept high, above 

all other objects or images.

You have to promise.’ I did.

The highest point

in my present home 

is atop the kitchen cupboards.

No matter how often 

I place the statue facing out

into the room, overlooking us all,

I always find it moved. (By itself. 

No-one here any more besides me 

to climb up and do that.) Buddha

turns always towards the light.

I bring home ...

 

I bring home, from cocktails for two

with my friend ‘the other Rosemary’,

(we are each that to each other)

the leftover guacamole, home-made.

The hummus, we agreed, would be hers.

We looked out over her view of trees.

Her little dog insisted on being patted.

We aired and shared our different views,

admitting them to each other frankly,

with perfect, good-humoured acceptance.

The first friend...

 

The first friend I ever made

here in the Caldera – 29 years ago! – 

brings me for late birthday / early xmas

a surprise hamper, chosen with thought 

for a new vegan. Pesto, chocolates, 

crackers, mixed nuts and seeds,

mayonnaise, plum jam, olive oil …

all organic in one-person sizes, and 

a cake of scented, hand-made soap –

along with a hug that was a mutual 

happy-dance, thrilled for my triumph.

As well as purchasing my new books.

Frankie arrives ...

Frankie arrives for the weekend,

carts all the books for the launch

down my front steps to her car

bundle by bundle by bundle,

cooks me a tasty vegan casserole

she prepared at home (though she

isn’t vegan) and makes me laugh a lot,

over a glass of cab merlot (organic).

Then we both decide on a good rest

before all the fun we expect tomorrow.

Driving into town, I realise ...

 

Driving into town, I realise: at my book 

launch I’ll see all these friendly faces! I 

say as much to one friend who works in 

the pharmacy, as I pick up my meds. 

When I walk out, there’s a big white 

feather across my path, which wasn’t 

there when I went in. 

‘Hello, Yasoda,’ I say, picking it up. (She 

told us before she passed that this would 

be the signal by which we’d know she was  

around.) ‘You’d have been there with bells 

on, wouldn’t you?’ Then I think – well, 

maybe she still will.

the love of friends –

made visible, tangible

by their presence 

(On my bench at home.)

I cannot think ...

 

I cannot think of him

without that old rage rising –

the abusive bastard 

you fell in love with 

all those years ago;

and even after separation,

his ongoing mental torture, 

deliberately inflicted, with malice.

I could see you wilting, dying,

driven crazy, made weak….

Of course I did the mother

of all banishing spells!

Immediately, he left 

for the other side of the world

and you recovered, went on,

found real love, good love …

yet even now, the mere

passing memory…. Yes,

I am a being of love.

Yes, I could kill.

Home and …

Home and straight into a sarong.

Refresh the wet cloth around my neck.

Book-launch venue double-checked.

Legal deposit copies posted. Bit by bit.

Earlier today I phoned my pal Frankie.

She listened to me wail awhile, 

then said: ‘What’s working?’ 

Ah! Quite right. So much is. 

Now, in another city ...

Now, in another city,

my friend’s funeral begins.

I remember to take my medication.

(This friend advised me to get certain dangerous symptoms checked, which led to the medication which keeps me safer. His own, different condition was not curable.)

*********

Afternoon, and in a city I used to know

the memorial is happening now

for another friend who died – this one 

suddenly, without my goodbye.

Now there is no-one left in my life

of that group of poets I met

in strange circumstances, once

upon a time, in a different reality.

Note: 

I met both these friends many years ago when they were in prison and I conducted poetry workshops there. They had long and good lives since. They did not know each other in life, being in different parts of the prison, released in different years, and afterwards living in different cities – but it happened that they died within a month of each other. They are the only two from that time whom I remained in contact with.

Across the circle …

Across the circle,

as our eyes meet,

my Scorpio soul-sister

quietly places her hand

on her heart a moment.

I reciprocate.