Strong Coffee Dark Beer

For Andi McKenna with Love

Disappeared from earth,
her voice, fierce and true.
A voice without apology or artifice,
it will never again
move the planet’s air.
The voice of my friend, familiar
as her strong coffee or dark beer.

Her voice has gone missing.
No other voice
can cover the chasm of its absence.
Not all the voices in the world
can occupy the hollow place
where for long years hers
spoke her being into the world.

In our 20’s, her voice
woke me to my strength.
We found our way, single mothers,
fighting for our children from the start.
Her voice showed the way,
uniting with the voices of many.
Her voice stood up for us all.

We took our toddlers to every march,
she carried her boy on her shoulders.
It was back in the days
before Roe v. Wade, and long before
our rights were stolen once again.
The causes changed, she always knew
where right action was happening.

Her voice was touchstone to me.
I was the poet writing in my room
who asked her who to vote for,
she the combatant in the system,
the cornerstone of the neighborhood,
the friend I trusted, and watched.
Did she know she changed me?

We didn’t listen to the same music.
Our ways of life were night and day.
But her voice was as familiar
as her solid kitchen table,
familiar as her backyard garden where,
when I turned forty long ago,
she threw me the party of my life.

I can hear her throaty smoker’s laugh
when she had to spell out something
I was too oblivious to see,
like when her roommate had a crush on me.
She nudged me toward the love of my life,
a gift for which
my gratitude’s still reaches out.

Hers was a voice in my life
that was a pillar of support,
a home’s firm foundation,
a lynchpin invisible but crucial.
Lost now, the voice of my friend.
Yet somehow when I raise a glass
I will always hear her laughing.

©Susa Silvermarie 2025