Old Friends

Together. After so many years apart,
a seamless reunion. In minutes we have,
reinserted ourselves into each other’s lives
like missing pieces of a puzzle retrieved

from under dusty baseboard heaters.
We laugh, reminisce about our friends,
scattered far and wide. Buoyed by the aroma
and flavor of home cooking, we relax around

the table on the raised porch watching
palms stir across the pond. The talk settles
on absent pieces, lost siblings, a daughter’s
twins born too early, how we dealt

with parents’ last days. Did our mothers’
ever forgive us for selling their cars
or convincing them to move from their homes?
Defensible perhaps, but not their choice.

Lost pieces blindsided us, a son’s
suicide, children’s divorces.
We console each other as we squirm, look
away, nagged by the unasked question,

“Were we to blame”? Going forward
we must struggle with high tech, our bodies’
decline, and being allowed to offer
advice only when asked,

The final pieces, who will fill them in?