POETRY -
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"Thoughts of you mingled with the ocher sand"
Photo courtesy of
Kathryn Santana Goldman
Photo courtesy of
Kathryn Santana Goldman
Moroccan Mirage
Dear Hank, I remembered today is your 78th birthday while driving across the dunes in Morocco. Thoughts of you mingled with the ocher sand when I came upon crumbling adobe homes. The bricks made of palm leaves and sand, built by semi-nomadic people. Your mirage image stood beside the adobe home your parents owned in Walnut Creek, the one you lived in before and after, they were gone--- and Easter Sunday egg hunts on the lawn, with our cousins Cliff, Dorothy, and Joey, before they returned to stardust-- decades before you went to Vietnam, before agent orange, the chemo, radiation, and clinical trials. I wrote every day to keep you alive, cherished your Mekong Delta letters. We never talked about the redacted parts. Let’s celebrate here in Casablanca! Eat lamb tagine, drink mint tea, and talk about all the things left unsaid. |
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