Neil Friedman

Neil is a retired registered nurse who specialized in sleep disorders and is a former community theater actor. These days, he is trying his hand at writing. Neil likes to say he’s traded the stage for the page.

But I Didn’t Know (POEM)

I realized

on the day

I learned she died

that we hadn’t spoken

in twenty-three years

twenty-three years,

and still

some part of me believed

we were only paused,

not finished.

Soulmates, perhaps,

or simply two people

who once loved each other deeply enough

to mistake memory for permanence.

The years slipped past us

the way years always do,

quietly at first,

then all at once,

each one moving faster

than the last.

If I had known

the last time I saw her

would be the last time,

I would have held her longer,

memorized the shape of her being

and the smell of her soul

refusing to let the moment close.

But I didn’t know.

If I had known

our final kiss

was final,

I would have stayed there.

inside that embrace,

inside that small eternity,

and never let go.

But I didn’t know.

And when I heard she was gone,

I learned she had carried it

for twelve years,

twelve years.

Six years have passed since then,

and still I think about her fear,

her pain,

the long nights no one else could enter.

I know she wasn’t alone.

I know she did not need me

to guide her through those years.

Still,

I wish I could have been there

for that one time,

that one moment,

when the room grew quiet

and she felt all alone

I would have taken her hand,

held her close,

and whispered:

I’ve got you, babe.

And I am so,

so sorry.