Friday, January 28, 2022
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January, A Love Story – Elena Brower


When this time of 12 months arrives, I’m
again within the automotive,
not more than 9 or ten,
outdoors college.

She has curly hair, vibrancy,
a cigarette, h
olding it elegantly. 

She loves me, says it incessantly and
h
er love places me at peace.
I do not forget that feeling;
she at all times is aware of what I would like and
s
he’s attempting her greatest, I now see.
All of that love simply appears regular to me,
and I reckon all of the mothers do that with their infants.
I now see they didn’t. 

When this time of 12 months arrives, I’m
b
ack in my son’s bed room, he’s not more than 9 or ten,
we’re taking part in air hockey on his mattress when the telephone rings.

She’s had a coronary heart assault, she’s going to doubtless not final.
And now we’re packing —

Books, video games, snug garments?
Funeral costume?
Bear in mind to deliver some good footwear, her voice says.
Unsure what this sense is, I’m wheeling
the garments, the footwear, the grandchild via
Penn Station. Appears everybody senses from my face what this journey should imply. 

The final time. The final time I get to okiss her
or resist her or rub her ft or hug her,
the final probability to return all that like to her.
One way or the other. In a matter of hours.

I’ll always remember that subsequent day,
my cheek resting on her stomach when it rises for the final time,
Listening for solutions I have already got. 

 



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