Parting
by Lori Kean


I remember the dress, red and white
and swollen with expectant child.
I remember the bench, ordinary
meaningless bench, but I remember
its rough nothingness like yesterday
and how I kicked at the stones, afraid
to look into the eyes of goodbye.
I remember the river, sad
twinkling past in easy rhythm
always coming...
always leaving someone behind.
In between hello and goodbye
were words, few, and they have
mostly floated from me now, carried
away on a river of tears I was sure
would never dry.
Three words are what I took from
that sunny afternoon and tucked
them away in my pocket of wishes.
I pull them out when I am alone
with this sacred, secret memory;
I stare into the glow of their truth
and I am healed.






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