"We Are Invited To Gather ‘In Memory Of’" by M.A. Scott

We Are Invited To Gather In Memory Of

So I head north with a stringed box
of biscotti and a decade of self-

recrimination on the passenger seat.
Just show up to say I love you.

I didn’t know his husband well.
A group of us linger in the kitchen

like a scene from The Big Chill
or some other 80s movie I would

have thought it was cool to roll my eyes at
(too sappy, too hetero). In this cluster

of familiars, who spent our first
off-leash years experimenting

with tangled limbs in a bong-smog
of stemmy weed, I am not the only one

whose hair is thinner, with loose skin
about the neck. Not the only one

who has prayed in a nursing home
parking lot, to god/goddess/anyone,

please let their failing parent sleep gently
that night and not wake up. This is

a different sting. Their children’s
classmates come and go, our friend

occupied with hellos, goodbyes. We laugh
too much, or not enough. There will be time

tomorrow for hollow rooms. I walk
to my car under a neighbor’s shared

umbrella. He loved trees, she tells me,
gesturing. It’s a long road. I’ve come

far enough to forgive myself
for stopping to eat fast food, idling

at a rest stop, listening to Julie Andrews
talk about the loss of her singing voice.

Earlier, as we all compared anxiety
meds, the friend who swims 99 laps

each morning told us, Sometimes,
I like to scream underwater.

With Emily Dickinson’s house around
the corner, none of her apt lines

came to mind. If they had,
I would have kept them to myself.

M.A. Scott

M.A. Scott is the author of the chapbook Hunger, little sister (Ghost City Press, 2024). Her work has recently appeared in Stonecoast Review, Cease, Cows, The Night Heron Barks, and DMQ Review. M.A. grew up in Rhode Island and currently lives in New York's Hudson Valley.
Instagram: @whythedoily.

Headshot: M.A. Scott

Photo Credit: Staff