POETRY
The Day that Andy Died
Prose poetry
The day that Andy died, I was in Mississippi.
Coming home from class at ten after midnight,
I did not expect the phone call.
The day that Andy died, my roommate decided to sleep with my boyfriend.
It didn’t happen that night, but the plans were laid —
It was a Friday, and they were going to New Orleans for the weekend.
The day that Andy died, I could not cry.
I put on a warm coat and walked to a private place on base.
I had been trying to write for ages but the words would not come.
The day that Andy died, I imagined him sitting beside me but I didn’t really believe.
Andy was special in the way that all dead friends become;
Andy was a good guy.
The day that Andy died, I thought about my life and what would become of it.
And I guess the biggest lesson Andy taught me was to learn from the mistakes of others, no matter how stupid or large or small.
And also, that I would always miss him.
I thought about Andy the other day.
And I finally cried a bit, in the most random place.
The day that Andy died, I didn’t recognize —
The day that Andy died, I didn’t.
(Written 4 December 2006)
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