A poem for me, from my roommate Karen

and it is this that I will remember
when I am old and wrinkled and grey
and the color of your eyes and your spray of freckles
escape me.

autumn afternoons sipping mochas from oversized tea cups
at the Italian cafe
and arguing about lab exams and music
and laughing at boys and our own youthful idiocy

and writing this poem on a chocolate-stained napkin
(in purple, no less)

we are friends, I think
or maybe more
(although nothing romantic can come between us)
platonic soulmates, we like to say-

You are the Watson to my Sherlock
and often the Sherlock to my Watson
Calvin and Hobbes, Merlin and Arthur
why are all of these pairs male?

we are so different, you and I
and yet, much the same
we both dream of jungles
I, of the people and villages within
and you of the jaguars and snakes and
cures in the leaves of poisonous trees.

We will send each other blowdarts and voodoo masks
and our children will grow up in strange, wild places
because when we dream,
we dream big.

but for now, our friendship is the little things
homemade hot chocolate and ginger tea
shoulder rubs and a hand to hold
a reminder, a push to be the best we can be.

I think we both thought ourselves tamed
by the world and boys that would hold us back
but you teach me to dream of wild things
and I remind you that you need no one else
but yourself.

Boys, they come and go
and my family, well, that's it's own mess.
but you, my friend
you are steady and constant and inspiring
and I, the same to you.

What beautiful things
a chance meeting,
a tiny dorm room can create-