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Then there was that other photo

Of my mother in her other life.
before I arrived.
Smiling at a man I never knew or saw,
who was holding her bag, a string bag,
that I couldn’t see inside,
as that part of the picture was flawed.
I once saw my father
hold up that bag to the light,
rubbing his eyes,
as he tried to make out what was there,
beyond the blur.

1 Feb 19

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