Mary

To think of her in the silence,
head in hand,
eyes fixed on nothing,
the light changes,
ordinary door frames glint with star spasms,
like looking at Christmas tree lights in a dark room.
The water burns,
submerged in salt,
a thrill sting,
a tickle in my nose
gratitude smacking with desperation of longing.
The miles are so far,
the phone so static,
so plastic.
Not at all like her smile.
Unless she's being sarcastic,
pure plastic and I find more joy there,
camaraderie in a world of strangers.
The lack of sounds invite laughter,
previous moments where I cross my legs hard,
beg her to stop,
a jug of gatorade for a dry spell -
dehydration always a result of good times,
whether party or puke fest,
take your pic,
we do.
She is my respite,
sun on a cloudy day,
reason of nonsense,
horse always fighting my cart.
In a moment like that one,
this one just now passed,
I see her face in the door frame.
She sparkles as always,
sipping red gatorade between
upturned cornered lips,
her brown bangs frame the perfect picture of my home.