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Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

i no longer need to look at the pages

by four pm each day
she begins to unravel

the wait
of the separation from mother and father
her room and all things familiar
becomes too great
for her two year old soul to carry

she brings me the clifford’s big red easter book
and asks,
“miss weesha, pweese read to me again?”

i am incapable of saying no to her

she proceeds to ask me to reread the book
a minimum of ten more times

i no longer need to look at the pages

when she is certain the big red dog has his easter basket

and she should be crawling out of my lap

she says,

“miss weesha, pweese hold me till mommy gets here…”

i am incapable of saying no to her

so we grab another book…

and i no longer need to look at the pages

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