Poetry

Tear filled fear at the start and then the excitement of buying a high end stroller we pushed around the mall filling with doll clothes and music boxes in preparation for our still imaginary fare. I caught you round bellied surveying construction of the crib in our living room. Your

“Hey daddy, do you have a picture of just you in a frame? Do you want one? So I can remember you when you die.” The memory of you, silhouette against the lake, pensive and staring out into reflections and ripples, casting a net of thought, almost indistinguishable from the

Small green sand bucket Holding my daughter’s laughter Ebb tide pulls away