Poem: "No Faster or Firmer Friendships"
Apr. 22nd, 2026 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the August 5, 2025 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from dialecticdreamer, rix_scaedu, and jake67jake. It also fills the "Somebody at the Door" square in my 8-1-25 card for the Crime Classics Bingo fest. It belongs to the Big One thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It is the third in a triptych, after "Where You Find Light" and "When You Learn to Read."
Warning: This poem touches on family tragedies and earthquake aftermath, but the current context is safe and supportive.
This microfunded poem is being posted one verse at a time, as donations come in to cover them. The rate is $0.25/line, so $5 will reveal 20 new lines, and so forth. There is a permanent donation button on my profile page, or you can contact me for other arrangements. You can also ask me about the number of lines per verse, if you want to fund a certain number of verses. So far sponsors include:janetmiles.
515 lines, Buy It Now = $129
Amount donated = $34
Verses posted = 38 of 146
Amount remaining to fund fully = $95
Amount needed to fund next verse = $1.25
Amount needed to fund the verse after that = $0.50
"No Faster or Firmer Friendships"
[Monday, June 13, 2016]
Once they finished putting away
all the groceries, the children
and a few adults drifted back
into the living room area.
The little ones squabbled
over what to do next, but
Loida had them in hand, so
Josué let her deal with that.
It was a lot more crowded
now, but that was okay --
they could borrow chairs
from the dining table and
throw cushions on the floor.
Josué wound up on the couch
again, this time sitting close
to the Hispanic teen who
was curled up on the floor.
She had her arms wrapped
around her knees and her feet
tucked under a Microfyne blanket
that was somewhat messily dyed
with gray-and-tan plaid over cream,
and had flattened down its texture
given the warmth of the room.
She looked sad as she
stared out the window.
"Hi, I'm Josué Dreux,"
he said. "Are you new?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm
Maria-Vera Navarro.
I'm from -- I was from
San José. Before that,
family farm in Mexico."
Her musical accent made
Josué smile. He liked
the sound of Spanish
and its effect on English.
She looked down at her phone,
frowned, then looked up again.
"Are you searching for something,
or hoping for a call?" said Josué.
"Yes," said Maria-Vera. "I keep
hoping my parents or grandparents
will call. I have not heard from
any of them since ... it happened."
"Oh, okay," said Josué. "Lots of
people lost their phones, wallets,
everything. Did you check M-FYN
or the refugee registration lists?"
"No," she said. "What are they?"
"M-FYN is a program to let people
know how you are after any crisis.
Refugee registration tracks people
affected by this earthquake, so they
can find each other and get services,"
said Josué. "Did you come from
a shelter? They should have
explained all this to you there."
Maria-Vera sighed. "Maybe,"
she replied. "Shelter was busy.
They said a lot of words, gave me
papers ... but English is hard to read."
"It really is," said Josué. "I knew
a little when I came to America,
not enough, but I've learned more
in the year since. It's still hard.
Would you like some help? I
can show you on your phone."
"Please," said Maria-Vera.
"I need to find my family."
"I hear you," said Josué.
He showed her how to set up
M-FYN and the refugee entry.
"Thank you," she said. "I've
been ... so lost. I was at school,
they sent us east the day after, but
I don't know where anyone else was
or what happened to them. It's awful."
Josué remembered all the times he had
gotten separated from his relatives, and
how rarely they survived to reconnect.
"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It's awful.
We'll help you deal with this, though. I
know what it's like to be lost and alone."
The kids had settled down some, but
now they pestered Josué for a story.
"Okay, what do we want to read
next?" Josué said, waving
a hand at the bookcases.
"Let's do Spanish and
English," said Loida.
"I can read this time."
"Thank you," said Josué.
"I would love to listen."
So Loida choose a book
to read that had both
Spanish and English.
The Giant Turnip told
about children growing
a garden at school and
figuring out how to harvest
a turnip that grew too big.
Loida read first Spanish and
then English, so that everyone
could understand the whole story.
Josué liked it, but when he looked
down, Maria-Vera was frowning again.
"You didn't like the story?" he said.
"We could choose a different one."
Maria-Vera grimaced. "It's so ... light,"
she said. "I lost most of my family
back in Mexico, when the narcoleros
killed them. That book ... doesn't fit."
"Ah," Josué said, understanding. "I lost
most of mine in Haiti. People hunted us
down like animals." He held out a hand.
"Come. I think I know a book that will fit."
"Okay," Maria-Vera said, and followed him.
Aidan had bought the kind of package
for The Last Calabash that let him
print off the workbook copies in
any of its languages, plus he had
the storybook in English, Spanish,
Haitian Creole, and a few others.
Josué picked up the storybooks and
workbooks for English and Spanish.
He led Maria-Vera up the steps
into the dining room, which still had
a few of its chairs left. "Let's sit here,"
he said. "This should be far enough
that we can have a quiet conversation
without losing track of everyone else."
Maria-Vera looked at the storybooks,
tracing the cover with its single squash
in a trampled field. "What is this?"
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character and content notes appear separately.
[To be continued ...]
dialecticdreamer, rix_scaedu, and jake67jake. It also fills the "Somebody at the Door" square in my 8-1-25 card for the Crime Classics Bingo fest. It belongs to the Big One thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It is the third in a triptych, after "Where You Find Light" and "When You Learn to Read."Warning: This poem touches on family tragedies and earthquake aftermath, but the current context is safe and supportive.
This microfunded poem is being posted one verse at a time, as donations come in to cover them. The rate is $0.25/line, so $5 will reveal 20 new lines, and so forth. There is a permanent donation button on my profile page, or you can contact me for other arrangements. You can also ask me about the number of lines per verse, if you want to fund a certain number of verses. So far sponsors include:
janetmiles.515 lines, Buy It Now = $129
Amount donated = $34
Verses posted = 38 of 146
Amount remaining to fund fully = $95
Amount needed to fund next verse = $1.25
Amount needed to fund the verse after that = $0.50
"No Faster or Firmer Friendships"
[Monday, June 13, 2016]
Once they finished putting away
all the groceries, the children
and a few adults drifted back
into the living room area.
The little ones squabbled
over what to do next, but
Loida had them in hand, so
Josué let her deal with that.
It was a lot more crowded
now, but that was okay --
they could borrow chairs
from the dining table and
throw cushions on the floor.
Josué wound up on the couch
again, this time sitting close
to the Hispanic teen who
was curled up on the floor.
She had her arms wrapped
around her knees and her feet
tucked under a Microfyne blanket
that was somewhat messily dyed
with gray-and-tan plaid over cream,
and had flattened down its texture
given the warmth of the room.
She looked sad as she
stared out the window.
"Hi, I'm Josué Dreux,"
he said. "Are you new?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm
Maria-Vera Navarro.
I'm from -- I was from
San José. Before that,
family farm in Mexico."
Her musical accent made
Josué smile. He liked
the sound of Spanish
and its effect on English.
She looked down at her phone,
frowned, then looked up again.
"Are you searching for something,
or hoping for a call?" said Josué.
"Yes," said Maria-Vera. "I keep
hoping my parents or grandparents
will call. I have not heard from
any of them since ... it happened."
"Oh, okay," said Josué. "Lots of
people lost their phones, wallets,
everything. Did you check M-FYN
or the refugee registration lists?"
"No," she said. "What are they?"
"M-FYN is a program to let people
know how you are after any crisis.
Refugee registration tracks people
affected by this earthquake, so they
can find each other and get services,"
said Josué. "Did you come from
a shelter? They should have
explained all this to you there."
Maria-Vera sighed. "Maybe,"
she replied. "Shelter was busy.
They said a lot of words, gave me
papers ... but English is hard to read."
"It really is," said Josué. "I knew
a little when I came to America,
not enough, but I've learned more
in the year since. It's still hard.
Would you like some help? I
can show you on your phone."
"Please," said Maria-Vera.
"I need to find my family."
"I hear you," said Josué.
He showed her how to set up
M-FYN and the refugee entry.
"Thank you," she said. "I've
been ... so lost. I was at school,
they sent us east the day after, but
I don't know where anyone else was
or what happened to them. It's awful."
Josué remembered all the times he had
gotten separated from his relatives, and
how rarely they survived to reconnect.
"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It's awful.
We'll help you deal with this, though. I
know what it's like to be lost and alone."
The kids had settled down some, but
now they pestered Josué for a story.
"Okay, what do we want to read
next?" Josué said, waving
a hand at the bookcases.
"Let's do Spanish and
English," said Loida.
"I can read this time."
"Thank you," said Josué.
"I would love to listen."
So Loida choose a book
to read that had both
Spanish and English.
The Giant Turnip told
about children growing
a garden at school and
figuring out how to harvest
a turnip that grew too big.
Loida read first Spanish and
then English, so that everyone
could understand the whole story.
Josué liked it, but when he looked
down, Maria-Vera was frowning again.
"You didn't like the story?" he said.
"We could choose a different one."
Maria-Vera grimaced. "It's so ... light,"
she said. "I lost most of my family
back in Mexico, when the narcoleros
killed them. That book ... doesn't fit."
"Ah," Josué said, understanding. "I lost
most of mine in Haiti. People hunted us
down like animals." He held out a hand.
"Come. I think I know a book that will fit."
"Okay," Maria-Vera said, and followed him.
Aidan had bought the kind of package
for The Last Calabash that let him
print off the workbook copies in
any of its languages, plus he had
the storybook in English, Spanish,
Haitian Creole, and a few others.
Josué picked up the storybooks and
workbooks for English and Spanish.
He led Maria-Vera up the steps
into the dining room, which still had
a few of its chairs left. "Let's sit here,"
he said. "This should be far enough
that we can have a quiet conversation
without losing track of everyone else."
Maria-Vera looked at the storybooks,
tracing the cover with its single squash
in a trampled field. "What is this?"
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character and content notes appear separately.
[To be continued ...]
