For Breda: I Miss You. {poetry}


Sometimes, I get to talk to Breda, only sometimes though. She lives in Ireland and I live in California.

Many years ago, after a full day of play and work, I preferred to sleep at Breda and Adrienne’s apartment. In the morning, I’d spend 30 minutes at my tiny studio to shower and change. Then we’d do it all again.

It’s easy to indulge in friendships when I was the only thing that I was responsible for. Laundry could wait. Eating involved whatever I noticed when I felt hungry. Work was squeezed in between dancing, conversation, and lots of laughter.

We’re all grown up now. Doing grown-up things, like work, and kids, and relationships that last more than 36 hours. It’s not that I want to go back to that time. It’s just that I miss her.


When the sky is changing colors and the birds are waking up, I remember you.

When I’m trying to find Orion’s belt and I can’t remember what he’s shooting at, I remember you.

When I’m peeling an orange, just picked off the tree, and the pulp is stuck in my cuticles, I remember you.

When my doggie rolls on his back waiting for a belly rub, I remember you.

When I cuddle in the bed with a body half my size and read Where the Sidewalk Ends, I remember you.

When the dishes are piled in front of me and I’m dragging, from my ankle, a giggling small person, I remember you.

When I’m strapping in car seats and negotiating elbow space, I remember you.

When I feed the fish and smile at their funny faces, I remember you.

When sand is up to my elbows and I’m burring those goonies again, I remember you.

When my nephew assumes that my childhood included black and white television, I remember you.

When I sit with my back straight and palms in my lap, attempting to quiet my mind, I remember you.

When I run to the store in old sweats, with tissues in both pockets, one side clean and the other side dirty, I remember you.

When Ponyo kisses Sosuke, when Sloth hollers, “Hey, you guys!”, when that girl in the Transformer movies never picks up a gun, I remember you.

When I dive under a wave in the cold Pacific Ocean, I remember you.

When the granite is warm and the sunset silhouettes the trees on the top of the hill, I remember you.

When I wash my face with ice cold water and dab cream under my eyes, I remember you.

When there’s dishes, and laundry, and diapers, and homework, and all I want to do is sit on the porch with a bottle of wine, I remember you.

When it’s sunny, or cloudy, or rainy, or foggy, when I feel happy, or sad, or tired, or excited, when life is pushing against me or lifting me up to support me, when it’s quiet, or busy, when there’s nothing else to think about, when there’s not enough time,

I remember you.


Christy Kirsch lives in California, and doesn’t mind if you judge her. When she’s cranky, time in the garden with her strawberries, chocolate mint and poblano chilies usually sets her straight, so does a swim in the Pacific Ocean. She has some short-short stories at Magic Theatre.


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  1. For Breda: I Miss You – Magic Theatre

    January 23, 2018 at 4:39 pm

    […] A poem published at Rebelle Society. […]

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