Rhoda

Not talking about her death.
Rhoda & I spoke of changes.
Her young sons, Fords forgiveness of Nixon,
The tragedy called Vietnam.

Elliott died of cancer 10 years earlier,
Rhoda was expected to follow
Before Summer gave way to Fall.
Long before her 32nd birthday.

There must have been anger and fear.
If so, they were prohibited from that time and place.
Though only 4 years my senior
I viewed her more as an aunt then a friend.

But on that day,
She allowed me to be her friend,
Someone who had stopped by
To say “Hello”, but meant “Goodbye”.

No tears. Sitting in the small living room,
In Dark brown armchairs on that late afternoon,
Comfortably ignoring the sand
Leaving her life’s hour glass.


Idiot words, that I could not speak,
Never demanded audience.
I was grateful then
And remain so 40 years later.