where I feel like the child
whisked up in her father's arms, touching the ceiling.
Other days pass
where there is not much time for thoughts,
and I am the child,
sleepy-eyed,
waiting in line at the bus stop.
June 2004
whisked up in her father's arms, touching the ceiling.
Other days pass
where there is not much time for thoughts,
and I am the child,
sleepy-eyed,
waiting in line at the bus stop.
June 2004
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