There is something soothing
about the slap of the waves
against the hull, the warmth
of a long-awaited spring sun,
the sight of a lone seagull
soaring overhead
and then a runabout
flying a “F_ Biden” flag
chugs toward the channel
and I forget my resolve
to leave all angst
in the parking lot
until I remember
how the women in the church
took mother’s hand,
said they’d pray for her,
and how one, her dark eyes
catching mine, whispered
“And you, too”
and how tears trickled
down my face that morning,
as they are now
this first afternoon on the boat
watching the sunlight on the water
sparkling
as it does on the vase
he gave me
for no reason
save one.
Dockside

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