Monday, July 2, 2012

Soil



A few years ago
I made a new friend.

I think I can remember
the exact moment 
I knew
she was my people.

It was a summer weeknight
and we went for ice cream at Ride Aid,
her 4 year old daughter in tow,
and we spent an hour perusing 
the aisles.

Of Rite Aid.

And we didn't buy anything.

And it was so much fun.

There is something about this friend
that makes me feel safe.

Un-judged.

Peaceful.

She has come over
many a late night
to let me talk
and then cry
and then laugh
and then talk some more.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

She and I play tennis
with our thoughts
and feelings
and perceptions;
about this world we live in,
the men we have loved,
the mistakes we have made,
the children that have chosen us
to be their mothers.

She has answered my call
when:
I wanted to go dancing,
when I needed help moving,
when I wanted to hike Runyon,
and a zillion other random requests.

Her soul is just a little older 
than mine,
but we've been friends for lives
past and present.

There really is no one else I know
who I am more myself with
and I am so grateful.

Sometimes
I want to know 
someone understands me
in all my neurotic,
obsessive,
insecure,
glory.

Someone who sees me.

And still loves me.

Someone who reminds me
that all of this is circumstantial.

Our true truths
are of another world entirely.

Saturday we played phone tag a bit
and finally were on the phone 
at nearly 11pm.

I told her I had
a full head and a heavy heart
and she was at my house
in an hour,
her now 6 year old daughter in tow.

She and I were BFF in a past life too.  Swear.

We stayed up late talking
and in the morning
she and her daughter and my boys
all piled into my bed
for chats and giggles
until we got up
and I made breakfast.

The kids played
and we cooked
and then somehow
we all managed to get ready 
and out the door
for an afternoon pool party.

My blood pressure
never rose above zen.

A few months ago
we were talking
about relationships.

About how sometimes 
we want things from the men
in our lives
that they are incapable 
of giving.

She told me about
her belief
that men and women
are like seeds and soil.

The seed cannot 
give anything to the soil
because it has nothing to give.

The soil nurtures the seed
and must get its nourishment 
from other sources.

Other soil.

She said women must be like that,
we must be each other's soil.

And so she is with me.

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