Lazarus

 

Come Laz, come sit up,

have a chat these last minutes 

before the sand demands a re-turn.

 

Remember that day we played 

down the shadowed sideway of your house?

You were six and I five; your quietly shaking hands

lifted my blue dress up to my waist 

then dropped small stones 

onto my yellow panties as you sang, 

‘When Johnny comes Marching Home.’

Come Laz, just for a time,

sit up and talk some more

about the summers by the ocean;

remember the pier at Ocean Grove

you were fifteen and we dove together, 

your hand slipped, touched my breast, 

we kissed that evening as we sat 

on the grass between your father’s tent

and mine, the stars shone above and your brother

threw water over us.

Please Laz, stand up for me.

I want to hear your voice, I remember

the way you screamed and laughed 

all those summers ago; when I got lost in Spooky Forest

you were the one who found me, your voice

called out my name, I was able to follow it 

out of the maze and there you stood 

smiling in the dusk, my father

stood behind you with a torch and a worried look.

I know our lives have separated since then

but ancient nights and days still have their place

and even though our adult minds pretend importance

those memories are as dear to me now

as when they first happened.

Please Laz, life has been cruel to me;

two children lost to drugs

and a third in prison,

but the memories of you have held me

through some of those dark evenings.

Please Laz, my beauty is long gone

and my skin, once smooth,

now wrinkles like the ocean;you are always in my background,

a hope, a possibility - the way to combat age

is with memory and yearning. 

Laz, I am lost;

I want to hear your voice

calling me out again.