my friend, Susan Alexander, circa 1970
(we lost touch after she married and moved to Germany in 1976 until....)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Suddenly, the scent of old glue unseals memory: yearbook pages sticking together. Forty-seven Augusts ago Susan Alexander's laugh cracked through algebra class; our fingers brushed, passing Man From LaMancha lyrics scribbled on notebook margins. We dissected Austen heroines during sleepovers, shared popcorn at matinees, dreamt in Technicolor futures. Then silence. Decades folded into drawers like unworn sweaters. Facebook algorithms blinked, those strange matchmakers, whispered: Berlin? Dallas? Three winters have since melted into midnight texts—her German syntax knitting with my Texas drawl across glowing screens. Old jokes resurrected like vinyl records scratched but still singing. Distance shrinks to pixels; the gift of friendship blooms anew~ upon digital soil. * This poem was submitted to and published at Persimmon Tree, November 2025. This is my original poem.
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