for Doris Russell (“Nammie”) 8/31/26-12/22/2017
A brook filled with minnows behind your red house, sings to the stars
we set up tents for
after a family reunion day of playing Bocce.
A bird feeder by your breakfast table,
melts blue jays into blueberries
tomato soup and bandaids
pianos and your beautiful handwriting.
Holographic stamps of toucans and charging antelopes send butterflies
soaking in a bowl of envelopes.
We waited for you while canoeing in the lake at Camp Seely,
telling the story of The Monkey’s Paw
around a campfire with s’mores.
And there is still a boardwalk.
Will you hold my hand?
Teach me to tie my shoe again?
It’s time to ride horses
through the hayloft at dusk.
There are still duckpins to shatter.
There is unknown whispering wisdom.
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