Lesbian Poetry

Tabbitha

Your deep, baby blue eyes
locked on the book . . .
your short, slender body,
slouched in the chair . . .
your long, skinny fingers wrapped
around your pencil.
You place it on the paper and glide it across;
in removal of the pencil, I see your name, Tabbitha Sitter.
As I sit my slender self in the chair across from you,
I place my white, pale, shaking hand on your shoulder,
with a cracked voice I say, "Hi, Tabbitha."
And in your high and happy voice,
you look up with a big smile and rosy cheeks
and say, "Hello, how are you?"
From that day on, I will remember you
for the person you were
and the person you could have been.
And by the way, sweetheart, Happy Sweet Sixteen!
Sorry you couldn't be here; I miss you very much.