Few things will hurt you more
Than the envy of old friends.
Sometimes, their silence will reach you
Across vast oceans. You will hear it, weighing
In your own voice, asking why: why
Is there time for all the distractions the world delivers
But not for a word of concern.

Sometimes their very praise will
Hurt:"You must have been practising," or
"You are definitely better than before,"as if you needed pity;
Any success will hurt them, deeply:
They will not forgive you easily:
They will need to pity.

They will need to speak.

Sometimes their anger will brood for years:
A joke or insult long forgotten - you thought -
Will return in deep disguise
As a snub, a lack of mention, a deliberate
Stalling of affection, a dinner party without
You, a vote placed
Elsewhere.

And if you should ever have a friend
Who outshines you:
Do not damn yourself
With faint praise of her.
Let her shining warm your heart
And bring smiling to your deepest self.
Do not begrudge her the tiny dazzling
In which she danced;
Share that moment, let it live in you both,
Before it dies forever
In the ordinariness which drowns us all.