July 29, 2009

B137. She leans herself

into my arms, having walked in to hug
her Mother goodnight. I want to unfurl
yards and yards of white taffeta, a satin
train she craves.
Instead, her voice unleashes the unharnessed
peace, rain shower's practicing turning my face
up to her Father's Edelweiss from His memory.

Posted by nancy at July 29, 2009 11:10 PM
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