11:00 PM, my cell phone rings.
Nobody calls me this late.
My heart catches when I hear
the dead tone of my step-daughter’s voice,
I thought you should know.

My ex sister-in-law.
Advanced pancreatic cancer.
Months to live.

I close my eyes.
She and I are standing 
in a friend’s kitchen.  
A noisy party.
I’ve already drained my bottle of wine.
Jenny looks me in the eye, cocks
her head upward, 
to the top of the refrigerator,
where sits a jug of unopened red wine.
She raises her eyebrows,
in a conspiratorial arch,
one naughty girl to another.
We claim that jug, laughing our asses off.

Jenny.  Her big, compassionate heart; so suited
to be a social worker.  We’re drinking wine
on her back patio.  The massive oak tree spreads
lacy leaf shade over us.  She is spelling out
my positive points, doing her best
to lift up my self-image.  It’s good to hear.
Who knows, maybe she’s right.  I still want her
to be my daughters’ role model.

I will send her a note; hold her hand, kiss
her cheek in spirit.  It’s too late now
to rekindle our friendship and too late
to wish I had.