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after my father died
I go to Ruff Park
where three years ago
we walked together
and made the full circuit
of magnolia trees
it’s December now
the creek is dry
and vanilla scent blossoms
are long gone
but still my father hovers
I listen and hear invisible breath
the creek will flow again
blossoms will bloom
death only a door to walk through

 


Maryann Hurtt lives midway between the Elkhart Lake Library (Wisconsin, USA) and the Ice Age Trailthe best of all possible worlds. A retired hospice nurse, she writes about resiliency, both in the natural and human worlds. Aldrich Press published her chapbook, River, in 2016.

© 2020, Maryann Hurtt

One comment on “the morning, by Maryann Hurtt

  1. Nancy Eberhardt says:

    Beautiful Mary Ann.

    Like

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