Anneliese Brower
She waited for us at the edge of winter
when Buffalo learned how to breathe again.
Day after day, we climbed toward her,
she opened her arms to our youth.
Rackets slung over our shoulders
as we pushed farther.
Music leaking through our earbuds,
spring harmonized into our veins.
Buffalo winter froze me still,
but the ice chains thaw.
She doesn’t appear to those who rush through her gates.
She reveals herself
To those who stop,
Who stand,
Who look.
Her hair is that of water droplets cascading over her face.
The air smelled like love and life,
an indicator of our youth.
I’ve stood in places that are world renowned,
Names stamped on postcards.
I was young and distracted,
Unsure of how to look.
Emery taught me how.
She held our laughs in the eaves of trees,
Watched us play terrible tennis with holy devotion,
Letting us believe tennis was the reason we walked.
We weren’t supposed to stay after
We did anyways,
Exploring her eaves, meadows, waterfalls, and brooks
Dinner could wait.
Years later, I came back
And stood where we used to stand.
I realized how gently she guided us through those days
Without telling us the sand in the hourglass was on its final grains.
If I could, I’d seal her in glass,
Shake the snow from her leaves,
Keep my dear friends wandering her trails forever. If heaven exists,
I hope it looks and feels just like this:
Water falling, friends nearby, the earth breathing once again,
Whispering that we are young.