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Life almost spent, 

still hanging on though, 


these your last grasps. 

You have been so selfish, 

just like me, loving

mightily in confusion. 

No, not a hair’s breadth 

of difference between us, 

except you could cook better. 

When you lay down for good, 

I’ll keep trying life a little longer, 

one step and a stumble, 

loving the heart of you 

in my arms, your daughter,

every red beat 

a striving 

graced just as it is,

every red beat

holding you still

in purest rest. 


From → All Posts

  1. Josephine Verceles permalink

    I cried,

  2. dee brown permalink


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