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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Oh love

when you are 75

you can have a doughnut for dinner

just because

but you sneak me some anyways

when mom isn't looking

a box of See's chocolates

every christmas

like clockwork

& handpainted cards 

cartoonishly beautiful

over-flowing with an unruly love

the kind of love that maxed out credit cards

then just opened new ones

& always

footed the bill

the kind of love that insisted that he was

a very nice man

even if he couldn't tie

his own shoelaces

the kind of love that wrapped me

in elaborate stories

of pearls, seals, dragons

but none so brilliant as the true ones;

you traversed this world hiding, conniving

tooth to nail writhing

out an existence

that somehow always bloomed 

into the most colorful fruit

& when we picked it

you would sing to us 

in your French accent

or some Flemish folk song

annointing our diaspora 

with virulent joy

I miss you

even though you screamed

dad's ears to bleeding

I miss you even though

you picked our pockets raw

I miss you even

though you tried 

to die

come back & pet my nose 

with soft knarled fingers

come back & hold on

to me

Submitted: August 16, 2018

© Copyright 2021 Anna Krakowsky. All rights reserved.

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