Still

Poetry by Daun Daemon


I see you at the gym
think about my friend’s younger brother,
your house, the gun (his)

phone call in the sleeping hours
my slumber broken by a shot no one heard
(he was alone, my friend found him after)

in a storm, I drove
to enfold my friend’s grief with my own
as you arranged the cleanup

the two of you moved
to different houses, other marriages
she remains my closest friend

you and I begin to catch up, idly chat,
wander past treadmills and elliptical machines,
look at the floor as we walk

thirty-four years later, we still
avoid eye contact, we still do not speak of it
we still turn away


Daun Daemon’s stories and poems have appeared in Yellow Arrow Journal, The Atlanta Review, Deep South Magazine, Third Wednesday, Salvation South, Amsterdam Quarterly and many more journals and anthologies. Her memoir in poetry, A Prayer for Forgiving My Parents (Kelsay Books), was published in July 2023. Daemon lives in Raleigh, NC, with her husband and three cats. More can be found at daundaemon.com.

Photo by Ambitious Studio* | Rick Barrett on Unsplash

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