Soleil and Sam

A poem

I had a pride-themed essay planned for my second quarter publication. However, like many things in life, that plan changed. This week, one of my partner’s childhood friends passed. They had recently ran into each other as she was a regular at the cafe Mel works at. Next week will be one year without Soleil, Mel’s soul cat. The timing of it all had me thinking about the girls meeting. This is what came of that.

Soleil and Sam 

Soleil will find you. 
“Sun” in French, she was ours. 
No, not the sun, but close. 

She can be yours now.
She will love your textured outfits, 
your bangles, 
your hair. 
Her moms didn’t do fashion like 
yours in her lifetime. 

She’ll have the warm-fuzzies about you.
That’s something mommy taught mom
And mom taught her. 
Just means you’re one of the good ones. 
She’ll trill her voice and scream sweet meows. 
She’ll see it in your smize. You did that really well. 

I wonder who decided you’d both 
die as babies.

It’s okay if you’re scared. 
You can hold her if you are. 
She’ll let you, promise.
As she cozies into your neck, baby-wearing 
will suddenly make sense.

She will climb onto your shoulders, 
just getting a better view of the clouds. 
She did that earthside too. 
Our little parrot 
What nicknames did you have, sweet Samantha? 

She will be feisty, that’s a promise. 
I don’t make those often. 
But you were spicy I’m sure.
You’ll learn each other's ways.  

 If your heart hasn’t worked, try cheese.
 She’ll fall for cheese. 
We had Pepper Jack on our first date, 
trading bowling pins for please take me home. 
Have her tell you about the beach. 

I’ve watched for her.
In the foam of a wave,
in the sound of tires on gravel,
in the smell of Pepper Jack. 

I will watch for you. 
In the eyes of strangers,
in the gloss of puddles,
in the evening mist, dewy and damp.