I bought you a book of poems
Just now, I'll have to send you a photo or maybe only this.
They're from William Stafford, Kansan and Oregonian
Maybe you read him in class years ago.
Page 72 I opened it to, waiting for the bus. I went in the used bookstore in search, looking for Marge Piercy
The store had so mucho books I could barely walk, see my goal.
I only had a minute, I grabbed Will.
Like new, new to me, no edges dog eared. I'll spoil it nonetheless as you by almost nature disregard or ignore my missives.
As a toddler you'd seldom cry, but at lunch or dinner, entertain the family, eating slow as possible. Some like it cold.
I'll get there, 3 ,4, 5, 6 as older sister, younger sister move on to dessert. Save some for her, finish.
The world made for your schedule.
Not the victim of neglect, or poor cuisine, the centerpiece floral bouquet.
Fed water, you'll perk up.
When you were 14, 15, 16, you ran about the city at your own accord. Not some myth I've invented, running away from home leads to problems of our own making.
Running away, most do it, a rite of passage into the entrails of future.
Just find the string, bread crumbs, follow them back, ok?
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