weathered rust-color brick wall with many bumps and imperfections

Her Death About

I could tell how she needed you,
though I was never sure about me;
we needed her.
Boyfriend, best friend:
like a heroic triumvirate
we presided over
that small college Camelot.
Our infidelity,
the big story on campus,
trashed it all, hurt her most,
and maybe we really were
all connected in the end,
smoking off graduation
in our stormy black wings.
Amicably, mysteriously,
she left, we left, & I don’t
remember if anything happened next.
Where do churches go at night?
Let’s trade our clues
& share the whole of her again.
“It feels like spring,” she’d say,
“I want to feed the ducks
and buy pink shoes.”
People eating alone upset her.