My Friend Has a Teenage Daughter

My friend has a teenage daughter
And I think, "How ordinary. How amazing."
I see her sometimes
"How ordinary. How amazing."

When me and her mom work together
I see her look at her mother
With her mother's eyes
I hear her speak using the timbre
of her mother's voice
Softer and more innocent
"How ordinary. How amazing."

Her mother and I work at the Gazebo
in their yard, inside the house
Daughter plays her guitar rock style
She gets going on her summer reading list
"How ordinary. How amazing."

She's bored perhaps
Wishing her mother were done
And walks across the wet green grass
To where we are
"How ordinary. How amazing."

"Did you have lunch," my friend asks?
"No, I'm waiting for you to have a sandwich."
"How ordinary. How amazing."

I wish I were dead, then I could
Walk across the wet green grass barefoot
Into the House and have a sandwich with
My daughter who waits for me.


Please, don't worry about me. I am not suicidal. I am bereaved, and sometimes when these stories come to me written in loose poetic form when I'm between sleep and wakefulness, the thoughts come out raw. I didn't know that this encounter was weighing so heavy on my mind, until the words came. But it's true for me that some of the most ordinary happenings of my life have profound meaning to me because of the absence of my daughter. This is another example of an "and-both" phenomena with the coexistence of wonder and banal.