By Lisa Low

(for Lorna)

We sat drinking tea in my parlor, my kitten
curled in your lap, purring as you pet her, your lips
a small red bow, your parted hair two braids
of river flowing. I love my friends and want to
hold them close. I want to smell their small smells
and listen to the sounds they make, sweet as flutes.
But on that day I must have said the wrong word—
fat?—because suddenly you fell to the bottom
of a well, in your flouncy dress, tipped over. It was
too late, but I wanted to jump in to save you.
I wanted to fling my arms around you and wing
you to a safe place where we could hold hands
and look together at the stars. I wanted to tell you how
glad I am you are my friend. How glad I am to know you.

About the Author

Lisa Low’s essays, book reviews, and interviews have appeared in The Massachusetts Review, The Boston Review, The Tupelo Quarterly, and The Adroit Journal. Her poetry has appeared in many literary journals, among them Valparaiso Poetry Review, Phoebe, Pennsylvania English, American Journal of Poetry, Delmarva Review, and Tusculum Review.