Poem 10 ± November 10, 2018

Julene Tripp Weaver
I Could Never Forget You

I could never forget you, you know that, right?
It seems like forever you’ve been gone. Restless
years without you. Remember how we used to
walk the length of Manhattan, and that one time
you were wearing new shoes? We were at 97th
Street when the fog rolled in and the rains started,
by the time we reached the Village you swore your
feet were one big blister and the undertaker could
take you away now. We laughed as only two facing
dying could. I watched you fake-collapse with flare,
right into that monster puddle, leaves blocking the
drain till the whole corner turned into a lake. We
were steps away from home, finally we collapsed
and slept hours, our last walk before the damn PCP
pneumonia you caught that night stole you away.

 

 

Julene Tripp Weaver is the author of a chapbook and two full-length collections. Her latest, Truth Be Bold: Serenading Life & Death in the Age of AIDS (Finishing Line Press, 2017), was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award for Bisexual Nonfiction, and won the Bisexual Book Award for the Best Bisexual Poetry Book, as well as four Human Relations Indie Book Awards. Her work is online at The Seattle Review of Books, Voices in the Wind, Antinarrative Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, MadSwirl, and Writing in a Woman’s Voice. Weaver is a psychotherapist in Seattle, WA. You can find more of her writing at julenetrippweaver.com.

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