For Judith

For Judith
Who I will never see again

You hang like a lost memory
near the gates of your
oak laden neighborhood

I picked you up there once
because your car was in the shop
or something like that

I still have the photo album
you gave me as a gift
which sat in your car for months
long after we’d stopped volunteering
together

Those days at the nonprofit
you were my solace
you were the one I sought
when I walked in the door

Southern charm and recipes
your clothes ever so pressed
and conservative
yet so approachable

Thick black hair
tiny shiny beautiful
unpretentious jewelry

Your soon-to-be son-in-law
said he hoped his daughter
would look like you when she got
old

But you were not old when you
died

Divorce
cancer
you left the shop

We tried to reach out

But you were too proud
or sad

I should have joined you
for Thai chi
I should have begged
one more time
to have lunch with you at
Joey’s

You always got the soup and
half sandwich
but could never eat it all

Judith I fashioned a character
after you in one of my unfinished
novels

Judith where are you
now