To Another Friend

I couldn’t speak, so I played and sang with you last night.
We stood close, closer than I thought we should,
The necks of our instruments intertwined.

You told me not to hold anything back,
So I didn’t. I poured it all out on this rough-made stage.
Now I’m red and rubbed raw and have nothing left to give.

The question remains: Do I have the courage to love
Not just you, but this whole world that circles around me?
They’ve all gone away, and there you are,

Singing alone in the dark. So I sit somewhat near you,
Without really knowing why. All I know
Is that love is a good thing. Love is a very good thing.

M.J. Gallagher

To a Friend

In the roots of the mountains
The old house rambles;
Light shines from every window.

Upstairs, the girls are sleeping
While the boys read poetry
By a blank fireplace.

We meet in the morning, friend,
And your voice cuts a foothold
In the face of my hardened heart.

So we stroll outside
For a sit on a park bench
And a gaze at a field of buttercups.

It won’t be long
Before teacups appear upon the lawn
And expectations drain from silver teapots.

M.J. Gallagher