Last Time (Poetry)

I had no idea that that last time
was going to be the last time.
You spoke as though we would,
come what may, at least be friends.
And friends see each other
now and again, don’t they?

I didn’t guess, not then,
that you were gone for good.
The way things looked at first,
you needed your own space
and duty wasn’t grounds enough
to stay. No elbow room.

The way you left, abrupt, upset,
made me think that you’d be back,
and you talked as if you’d be in touch
sooner or later. Once you’d had
a chance to get your head together,
your priorities straight.

No word. The silence lengthened into months,
stretched to years. No sign of you
except in her. Your hide and hair
show through but she wears them as her own.
Hers alone. She doesn’t need to know
their donor, so long gone.

Watching her, I seldom think of you.
She grows into herself, her clear eyes
the ones she’s looking through.
She’s smart too. Accepts the fact
that that last time was the last time
for all of us.