discovering an old friend

the spiky, uncut grass

barely bent beneath your feet

as you trod that path

up a hill

that you hadn't dared think about

for ages,

and had never attempted

while waking.

you crossed paths once or twice

then never again

but those spangled memories

hang on,

wondering and thirsting

for a hope or a prayer

that an opportunity

for some wonderful feelings -

those that are associated with you -

will bleed through.

but you didn't know

that you were hoping for the impossible

until your mother,

mulling over the obituaries

mused allowed that

"my, wasn't he a young one."

and your intake of breath

as you leaned obligatorily over

was a shock to both of you.

and here you are,

digging your way under

past musty, hard packed dirt,

behind his untended headstone

some six years later,

craving that feeling

that he supplied better than

every other.