“What will we do when one of us dies?”

(A whispered query cradled in the wind.)
Grief and I are reluctantly intertwined
But you grew up pressed close to her breast.
I ask the big questions-
But you see them coming.

We glance upon a photograph
Of a day a lifetime of a year ago.
When we, among many, stood tall.
On the cusp of greatness.
On the brink of meaning.
That’s what those clothes and red lipstick did-
They painted thirty years in front of us:
Our passion peaking at success.
Our dreams knocking at our doors.
Our desire wrapped in a bow.
(Our rose coloured veils.)
A storm would open up before us
And we would taste the salt of the raging sea
And forge forward in conquest-
All of us: one by one.

Now the ocean is asleep
The lipstick is faded.
All that’s left is the biting cold
(And our introspection and pessimism and dreams of second best.)
“I’ll be dead for the rest of my life”, you say.
We share a smile across the miles.

Chipped away and wasting,
Our memory of lifetimes past survived the storm.
But you and I,
We survived the calm.