Absence

Absence

Maybe, though, it’s not always the stars that matter but the space

between them, the lines we draw to shape the absence.

Jessica Jacobs

I meet my friend from home at a café

down the street, I tell her they have

spicy ginger tea and we grab our tall

glasses of honey sweetened tea and

slide right in without a beat.

How are you?

Really?

We ask of each other, bypassing kids and

parents and partners. She asks if I trust

the process, by which she means

this way of being, by which she means

the Universe speaking, by which she

means the forgetting and remembering,

and returning to the truth that we have

everything we need—within. And

I want to say yes that I embrace the enigma,

but truth is I secretly search for a map,

a way to the other side. With sun-filled

days and answers to all my questions. And

a quiet of the mind. But we both know

there is no map, no certainty, no knowing,

no disappearing of mystery.

Perhaps the mystery is the way, we say

sipping our tea. Now silent, hesitant to

fill the absence.