365 Days of Writing – Day 104


I’ve met women recently who I enjoyed talking to and who, I thought, I could be friends with. I met one at jury duty. Over the course of four days we clicked. We shared the same odd quirks. The same pleasure in volunteering and travel. I emailed her twice after the case had wrapped but I never heard back. The other I met through work where she is an attorney. We even managed to get together after work for dinner. Actually we met twice. Once was a Grub With Us dinner so it didn’t quite count. Lest you get the wrong impression, these were not dates, they were just a chance to spend time with someone. I would have been equally happy to have struck up a friendship with a man but that seems less likely than a friendship with another women.

It’s been months and I haven’t seen or heard from either. I wonder if, after a certain age, with all the demands of work and family, is it possible to forge friendships? Are we limited to those friends we made when we were younger, more open, with more time to invest in cementing the friendship?

I can’t help wondering, if it’s this hard to start a simple friendship with no emotional baggage, how on earth am I ever going to enter into a new relationship?

But when there’s poetry, who needs a man!

Here’s a favorite from Sharon Olds


Q belonged to Q&A,
to questions, and to foursomes, and fractions,
it belonged to the Queen, to Quakers, to quintets–
within its compound in the dictionary dwelt
the quill pig, and quince beetle,
and quetzal, and quail. Quailing was part of Q’s
quiddity — the Q quaked
and quivered, it quarrelled and quashed. No one was
quite sure where it had come from, but it had
traveled with the K, there were the two voiceless
velar Semitic consonants, they went
back to the desert, to caph and koph.
And K has done a lot better —
29 pages in Webster’s Third
to Q’s 13. And though Q has much
to be proud of, from Q & I detector
through quinoa, sometimes these days the letter
looks like what medical students called the
Q face — its tongue lolling out.
And sometimes when you pass a folded
newspaper you can hear from within it
a keening, from all the Q’s who are being
set in type, warboarded,
made to tell and tell of the quick and the
Iraq dead.


4 thoughts on “365 Days of Writing – Day 104

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