There was a pain in your bellybutton

You thought for a few days maybe it was nothing

But it got worse

So you texted me, your friend, a nurse

You know you’re an adult when people only call or text because they want something

You asked about your symptoms and I said it depends

Any fever or chills

Any vomiting

All you told me was that it was exhausting

Did it start when you went to the university or when you went to Boston

Back then I saw that something nagged you often

I told you to go and get checked out

You went to the ER

The CT scan left little doubt

The next day you left with a scar

Another one in the collection

You sent me pictures of the intraoperative scope

Pink abdominal tissue – bubbly

A joke to us afterward, serious but funny

You went home and watched a movie

That’s what you told me

On oxycodone

Several states away

Were you all alone

Are the pain meds enough for your scars

Your appendix was taken

But for how many years has your heart been breaking

It was in your eyes last time I saw you

You won’t talk about it

Your heavy eyelids act as a dam

You’re trying to figure out how to bridge your plans

I thought about calling you today like on Thanksgiving

But every time we talk there’s always something missing

So here’s a note

This morning I was reading the end of the Bible, looking for hope

Revelation

Like an appendix to a sad exodus

I think you and me are like everyone else

Waiting for some kind of revival

This journey feels like it’s been a while

Prayers are incense

Friendship a salve

A text or a phone call, encouraging words – can heal the heart valves

Till it’s all fixed

I don’t want a thing

Just for you to know you’re priceless

This here poem is an appendix

To the mere first 20 years of the story of our friendship