Micaela’s Poem

Golden beams stream into the veranda from the sun-soaked street
A moment of repose from unsteady steps drawn by bowing arches of aching feet
His soul bereaved of visions of a comforting embrace
Sol’s warm rays are no comparison to the form ensconced in lace
But the soundscape of this new land is a litany of disquieting comments
Issued from a troupe of beauties with Australian and South African accents
Among them the one from the land down below but not down under
Sitting at the table where the women were roaring but the man didn’t thunder
At nineteen, she was the same age as his long lost padawan
The one of whom he would never be able to accept that she was gone

Named after an angel, her words were comforting and practical
Utterly devoid of the superstition that had been driving his anxiety
She was a sagacious aid in sifting through psychosis to find a life actual
And perhaps with time she would help him function in society
He was refreshed by her commitment to her life as savior and healer
And her youthful daydreaming about a life as a bodyguard
It was a welcome contrast from his days under the thumb of a drug dealer
He had to convince himself she was not a captain in a heavenly vanguard

And then, just like that, out the door she went and she was gone
Always busy with something else, like everybody else
Working through her own life in her own world
The bedrock of friendship is presence

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