There are times when you are close to one friend
and then another.
There was that year
when you really got to know
your mother,
that day in France
on the train
with the American boy
who changed everything,
and then there are times like now
when life is so busy
that cooking a meal
is as preposterous
as if your husband asked you
to churn butter.
It’s late,
you’re down to the wire,
you eat crackers and bean dip
with one hand
while you type
with the other.
The bean dip is good,
healthy too,
and you find you are suddenly
overwhelmed with gratitude
for the people who made it.
You realize
you feel closer to these people
who made the bean dip
than anyone else
and if there was time
you’d write them a letter
a love letter
but instead
you just lick your fingers,
rub your tired eyes
and write.