Ellen Pickus


Mine also slips away at times from what might be
truth. How can I be sure with no recording,
audio or video, accurately
capturing questionable moments?  Like the time—
was it my fault or hers?—a friend and I ceased
talking after years of friendship.  I’m inclined

to blame her.  Now that I recall more clearly,
I’m quite certain the fault wasn’t mine.  I phoned
to congratulate her  on an achievement; she
bit off my head for waking her, surly,
although the time wasn’t the problem.
With her it was always too late or too early,

now that I remember and think back.
She was always a difficult person
to whom I deferred for the sake
of the friend I’d long known, or thought
I’d known.  And the memory is clear

of all the ambiguity she brought.

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