36x365x81

We were joyriding near the shore on the Cape, beach bound. Rounding a corner, with music and voices blasting, a burial was underway. Still, I wonder what it meant to them to have their somberness interrupted.

36x365x65

Though you were a good friend, you wouldn't come to our wedding without a date.

When I announced the birth of my first boy in an email, you replied to all referencing the size of Rob's-

36x365x32

Friend I've yet to touch, I drink your words.

You mourn your dead dad with painful eloquence and expose your vulnerability with grace.

We'll meet on the Cape and our kids will play at the beach.

36x365x29

The boys in child care asked about your mustache and smiling you said someday they'd grow one, too. I wanted you to wax, so they would stop asking. You worked too long and saved too few.

36x365x27: Saturday's on Sunday

My husband tells me stories of respect and of passion. Of commitment and of the extreme sport of dedication. You write your 365 of goodness and positive influences. And sir, you have made him a collector.

36x365x26

Your generosity of time, energy, affection and gifts gave focus to a hollow time. You brought a ham dinner (with wine) for 20 to the ICU the night before dad died. After, you faded into black.

36x365x21

I couldn't figure out how to let you go, so I held fast for far too long. Now, I Google you and seek some silly sign of who you became. I'd like to meet your wife.

36x365x20

We leaned against the yellow walls in AP English. And you, with your wide comb over and subtle smarm sat among us. Teaching. I can't believe she fell for you, lived with you or loved you.

36x365x19

I knew when I spoke to him over the bonfire in October that he was he and that you were you. Better together. I wept at your wedding. Watching him watching you. The past only ashes.

36x365x17

I judge you: selfish, shallow, disloyal, dishonest, and mean. You took the love of my people and you shit on it. You are broken but I am sad and angry. I cannot forgive you yet. Prick.

36x365x15

It was absolutely no surprise when you passed out during a party in 1993. As promised your friends shaved your head. 10ish years later you walked out of the closet and ran back to the army.

36x365x14

You really did walk into the party like you were walking onto a yacht. Rock star in your mind, you played the harmonica and played the girls. Handsome and talented. Fun to watch but decidedly insincere.

36x365x13

I cried at a dance when you played the theme to Say Anything, avoided your eyes during Is she really going out with him? You played and wrote and made music and I loved you first.

36x365x12

Your married boyfriend hit you often and hard. You lived with me with black and blue pride and a bleeding sense of self. I called an abuse hotline. You came home with flowers. I was 20.

36x365x11

You married your husband in your apartment wearing your pajamas. I don't know why. Your father wore a suit. We talked about the children you might have and the word divorce was always prefaced with if.

36x365x6

A severed life of troubled sadness. Marked by ink and drink and cigarettes. Less than handsome, more than light. Feigning danger. Your aunt found me in Boston on a warm spring day because you were dead.

36x365x5

We met in 9th grade, my first high-school crush. We flirted boldly in civics class, even after the teacher separated us. At our last reunion you were neither handsome nor tall and you bored me.

36x365x4

Gray haired volunteer of kindness, leaning in welcome, meeting his eye with warmth. In a voice thick with years of tar and maybe gravel you said, "You must be Clam." But my son's name is Clay.

36x365x3

You found your voice in Pennsylvania, overcame the common grunt to speak with clarity, confidence and humor. Now you're unpacking a suitcase of hangovers from 4 years in college and looking for a place to fit.

36x365x2

The bad ass who came to the beach at night with Marlboro Lights and a sweetness undisguised. I was drawn to you. Then, when I was gone you lost a brother. I never found you again.