clcouch123

My Friend from School, Steve
(add in your friend)

My best friend
Locally
Was Steve
And Steve was Black
Mainly
Though
He was my friend
He brought me in
For a while
Even to his house
His home
And he told me how difficult
It was
To buy that house
In rural Pennsylvania
Where selling to a Black
Man had been
Difficult
Though he had money
And persisted
He let my cat
Stay with him
Too
She liked to run around
The house
And try to dominate
Queenly
The feral cats outside
Near the barn

Steve
Had two lovely children
Long grown now
I haven’t seen them
In a long while
Though I imagine
They are lovely
Still
Inside and outside
Hard-working
Like their father
Also loving life
Like their father

Steve was ill with things
A combination
Or a last thing
Took him at the end
That should have gone
Differently
He should have had years
Of relative health
And joy on Earth
Even though
No doubt
He’s doing better
Where he is

We were friends
At school
Where we worked
His office was a friendly place
There were rows
And stacks
Of things
To appreciate
Mostly
It was that they were illumined
Embodied with his presence
Sharing wisdom
Sharing life
A resting place
Even
For others
For me

I miss him
Even sharply
Every day
He had a way
I miss his presence
He was easy to be with
Whatever the mood
He was my friend
I miss him
Every day
He had a way

C L Couch


I write this because it’s nearly the end of Black History Month.  I can think of Black inventors and I do.  And so many Blacks I’ve known with all the talents, attitudes, and contributions.  But my famous friend for this month is Steve.  He was a teacher.  He was skilled.  He was welcoming.  He had a home and had a life.  He is my professional and personal Black history.  He should have had more time on Earth.  He once called me his brother, and I have felt that strongly ever since.  He was mine.  He was my friend.  I miss him sharply every day.

Photo by Dylann Hendricks | 딜란 on Unsplash