Death of a Friend, Poetry to Slam

She woke that day,

Like so many days before,

Seemed to me that this day,

Wasn’t that different than those before.

But, I was not inside of her head,

I was not there,

As she awoke,

Probably awaken and stirred

By the little voice

That woke her most mornings,

That little voice wakes me now, too…

And it often seems

That little voice is the only one I have in my world

Sometimes,

We lamented over the loneliness

Of being a single mother, so many times. 

But, we agreed,

It is what kept us both,

Pushing on through.

But, she awoke one day,

Not so different than those before

Dropping her baby off at school

As she drove away,

Dressed in black.

She drove away that morning,

And I wonder of she looked back.

When she drove away that day…

I don’t think she thought-

For a second

That she’d never return.