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Mom and me walking by the river

It’s rocky
and she’s wobbly.
I hold on tighter.

The current is strong.
I imagine
Dad laughing,
chasing
her runaway scarf.
The blue one. Her favorite.

I get that familiar ache.

But we carry on
together.

After all,
we’ve been here
many times before,
in this exact place,
holding hands.

Mom and me walking by the river

It’s rocky
and she’s wobbly.
I hold on tighter.

The current is strong.
I imagine
Dad laughing,
chasing
her runaway scarf.
The blue one. Her favorite.

I get that familiar ache.

But we carry on
together.

After all,
we’ve been here
many times before,
in this exact place,
holding hands.

Beth Daynes, Redmond

 
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