Sweet Tea Saturday
The amber color the tea is turning
As it starts to boil
Reminds me of his eyes.
Little bubbles
Floating
From
The
Bottom
Remind me of the laughter of my children
The sound is dancing
Twinkling through
The thick molasses of a darkening depression.
My eyes drift to a tiny,
happy hand
resting on his smiling chin.
I’m writing poems in the kitchen.
Loved.
We are all,
Loved.
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