Women in a Restaurant
Older, we talk more
easily together. I
tell stories instead of truths
hoping the stories
are true enough. I met my
friend Laura she came to dinner yesterday
when her father Bernie
walked into my office
by mistake. Bernie was on the wrong floor.
"What a mess,"
he shouted, in his perfect voice.
And then, "you
must be the creative type.
Like my daughter Laura.
The other one is organized."
Not as hard to say what
we couldn't before: our children
grown now, as imperfect
as we. Happiness comes
in moments. In stories.