it's been five years since
Lynnie died.
i feel like i can call her
up and she's
there.
full of golf stories, jokes,
telling me
about her father, her next
new job.
her dates,
her heart aches.
her unpublished novel,
an erotic
tale on the links,
with ribald chicanery
on the front nine.
if we laughed once,
we laughed a million
times.
i still have her green wine
glass on my
kitchen window sill.
what joy it brings when
the sun
shines through the glass
and i remember her,
eternally,
forever young.
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