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May 2020
A small white house,
A slamming screen,
A dusty yard
With tatters of green.
Out I stand.
Seeing and knowing
Who I am.
I am a child.
The sky is clear.
Running, and voices,
That are not clear.
In this memory
I know your name.
I don't yet speak.
I know I love you.
This is about my first memory of my older brother. We weren't raised together. Though we had inly met a few times before he died, I still loved him as if he had always been in my life.
Cecil Miller
Written by
Cecil Miller  Louisiana
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