So much is made of romantic relationships and how to deal with the unsettling grief and sorrow that comes along when they break down. But what of friendships? What do you do when you realise someone you were close to no longer feels happy about being friends with you? What are the rules and where is the guidance for that kind of confusion, guilt and distress? It feels like unchartered territory.

I came across the following article today when I was tinkering with my poem. Not only is it bang on topic but the title’s reference to Vietnam was scarily attuned to what’s been happening these last few months.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nancy-doyle-palmer-/a-friend-is-someone-who-likes-you_b_3488081.html

We will return the books we once borrowed,
and sports bra memories of runs side by side.

Stuff them in the pigeon holes that
represent our silent communication.

We will take down the photos
and tuck them somewhere safe

or tear them up and feed them
to the bin beneath the kitchen sink.

We will absently use the gifts we gave one another
feathered pens, books and twee camera cases from Japan,

purposely forgetting who wrapped them carefully
in pink paper and in crepe.

We will delete the emails and messages
and not share our updated skype addresses

to keep secret our new contact details
in recognition of what we couldn’t resolve.

We will sit at opposing ends
of tables at social functions

in the theatre on the last day of work
we will try to avoid each other’s eyes

as we part ways in public.
We can try to erase all those years of friendship but

your email address will still come up when I log on
and I will still have flashes of you looping your arm through mine.

I will stop myself from visiting you across the corridor
to share my news and trivia.

Like a needle and a thread
we sewed a tempestuous history:
the glorious glittering colours

and then the later skies of bruising black.

We will continue to chew away

at the tapestry of our friendship.

Gnawing away at the pictures;

unravelling it, unravelling it.