La Bohème

The cigarette smoke is gone, so

The haze that remains must be

Just from the wine

And the memories. Friends here

Friends then, is now what she feels

Now, or is the feeling the memory

The unreeling or unreal, a ghost

And a look. Doing, and feeling

Both at once, not together

Not together now, no, but almost

Some days yes, a set, settled

Resolute. Then turning, turning

Faster, spinning all out,

The center alone, solo, frozen

Paintbrush not even poised.

Spotlight on, shining, hiding in the light,

Laughter in the dark, no faces,

Maybe white clapping hands

Friends again and memories

New and old.

There were no antibiotics back then

For the girl in the garret.

-Peter Schmidt