Two or three seahorses
shimmer and
float above us in the crystalline
cerulean sky.
We two who have lost our
mothers to
cancer sit close for
comfort on
a lone picnic table, waiting.
The greenest grass I’ve
ever seen is all around.
Quiet joy ripples through
our alert bodies
at the sight of these small
animals and
such perfect, simple
athleticism.
Their elegance, their
sudden dazzling high
flying in this foreign
element surprises and
delights us more than silent
grief can speak.
I wake up laughing, the
happiest camper
in the whole damn house.
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