Last updated:
June 1, 2020
Lori M. Cameron, editor
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My Friend, This Sun – Janell Moon

Fall 2001, vol. 5, no. 2

My hair turns grey but grows curlier,
thicker. Her hair ages thinning, yellowed.
It’s something we don’t discuss.
We sit on the bench in the sun.

Time spreads our hips.
We spread our feet a bit for ease.
We wear comfortable shoes
and double socks for warmth.

We were friends when our children
broke their ankles
turning somersaults
on yellow flowered hillsides.

We were together when as adult children
they came home
disappointed no one loved them
like their momma did and

no one eased their way.
Life tore at them
and caught them unprepared.
We helped each other

help them out again
to heartache, love
and revved up cars so
we could enjoy this sun.

My friend stretches her back
and pushes out her stomach,
arches. I yawn
and stretch with her.

I sit and think of pine trees and green grass
She dreams peppermint.
Our hormones bounce. We hot flash.
We let our tummies go. We don’t care.

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