The Story Of An Unsaid Thing

We fought all the time.
Two strong heads butting up
against different world views.
Work was like that, a lot.

When she sent her sister to me
for career advice, I was shocked.  Her sister
told me she’d said
how much she respected me and that I’d help,
anyway I could.

Feeling guilty, I called her
and we made plans
for lunch the following week.

I had a lot to say,

and the next day she got on a plane
and it flew into a building
and she became —
what?  Icon, symbol, memory,
martyr, victim —

She was none of those.  A huge smile
and a sharp tongue.  A quick word
and a deep thought.  A boss, a mother,
an adversary and a thorn.  Yes, those —

but I don’t know what to call her now.
She was a colleague, less than a friend,
but she looms in me now
below my heart, nudging it with her strong head,
reminding me:

I have left things unsaid
in so many places.
I have misjudged and will again.
I have held grudges and still do,

and I don’t know where her sister is today.