For a Friend

By Liza McGilpin

For a friend

My words, these words

They all mean nothing

When held beside yours

Just wilted weeds

Beneath a rose bouquet

I wish you knew

How much the flowers meant

Before and after

I still have your note

Safe, secure, a petal between a page

You need to know

How much the paper meant then

How much it still means now

I was the bruised banana in the trash

And you pulled me out to make bread

You

Put everything together exactly right

Not one, not two, not three

But four fucking times

And still I will never

Be able to tell you

How much your words

Will always mean