She Told Me To Call Her Amy

I called her Mrs. Pirillo,
but she told me to call her Amy –
such a young name, for such an elder,
the mother of my 40-year friend –

but not for a builder, a teacher,
a mother, a leader,
an ex-betrothed, who wouldn’t
be swayed from waiting

for the right songbird
to play piano for their children
and dance her eternally
under St. Michael’s full moon.

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