Dear Pat: I miss you! There are time, alone
at night, when I hope that your ghostly scent
will fill the air. You’ll laugh, say how I’ve grown
and I’ll laugh too, and say how you haven’t.
I’ll ask you how Audre and Adrienne
are and you’ll say just fine. Then you will read
something new you have written and I’ll grin
and cheer at all the right parts. Death has freed
you from many things, but not from a warm
audience. Pat, I wait, this fey, whitest
of white boys, who loves you, loves to perform
your work; calls you superfine, the dearest.
You taught me the power of words, laughter,
respect and why I miss my big sister.