By Marcy Von Kohorn
Vero Beach Branch, Florida
When I think of my dear friend Rosemary, I want to call her, as we chatted every day
Maybe about our Pen Women Branch, as president she had her way,
Or about her book or her version of the Mikado
Or maybe just to confide about our lives, as we always did
Is there a phone in heaven?
Can I reach her there?
How can I let her know how much I miss her—how much I care?
Every night I look into the sky as my thoughts wander.
Why did she die?
I feel her spirit near me—in a star like a bright sparkling dot.
I know she never stopped mourning for Gretchen and Scott.
She talked about them,
I listened. She was my friend. I felt her sorrow.
We had dinner every Friday night
We’d watch the fiery sunset
As it would cast its golden light.
Then we’d go for ice cream, vanilla and chocolate almond,
Cross to the bank, park and relish every bite.
But then she lost her appetite and no longer enjoyed our treats.
She never complained but I knew something was not right.
We still talked every day, but briefly,
Sometimes her speech was slurred.
I asked her to see a doctor. I was worried.
She said she would feel better tomorrow.
No more dinners, no more stories to write,
I still called her every morning and night.
Till one day I said, “You must go to the ER,”
And she did and was kept in the hospital.
The tests showed an incurable disease.
God, keep her soul forevermore please.