I knew her well enough
to bitch about the baby weight we both still carried,
the lousy cafeteria coffee,
staffing shortages, slow elevators.
I knew her well enough
to hear her name mispronounced
on the evening news. The photo they flashed
taken before the third baby.
Milton Mother of three missing,
her van abandoned near the beach.
I knew her well enough
to attend a prayer vigil.
Tried to talk about her
in present tense.
That night, I dreamed the tide
had swept her car to sea.
The networks moved on to more pressing stories.
Did part of her believe
she would come home from the car wash
with a shiny van?
Or did the murky waters pull at her
even as she kissed her babies goodnight,
thanked her mom
for sitting on short notice.
She was already drowning then.
I knew her well enough
that more than four years later
I write this poem while my children sleep,
my car parked outside, dirty.