After I gave up that car and
retired the license plates,

I hammered one into the graying
redwood that is the back fence.

The nearby rose bush pruned
for winter means that I can see

the plate without surrounding
foliage for a while, which means

I think of the one who gave me
the plates and came up with

the goofy abbreviation. She who
loved me to the moon and back,

as she did all her beloveds, she
who called herself my best friend

before I knew she was. And now,
BFF, I see you in this show-offy

red rose, all look-at-me, look-at-me,
which was not like you in life.

But now, I figure, you, dear companion
spirit, might think that you have

to get my attention, make sure that
my easily distracted self catches on.

If that’s not you, I don’t want to know.
But if it is, nice job, BFF, I’m leaning in

for a hearty sniff. Those crimson petals
look so good on you.

•••

For Georgann, wherever you are in the mystery.