Dang I Miss Tana

Dang I miss Tana. She was big in my life, bigger than my mom even.

I met her someplace. Strange I don’t remember.

She had a magic to her, Tana did. Like the way she’d pull some blades of grass up in her hands while we sat in the park talking, twist them in her fingers and make a little cup or a bunny from them.

Or how she could talk about a book so it was better story than if you was reading it. She had a magic to her, all right.

I’ll always wonder where she went to.