Pain is a gift.

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When you were boys we ended every dinner cooked outside on the grill by toasting marshmallows. One day last year I found the perfect sticks at the supermarket. How could I not think of you? Long dowels with pointed ends wrapped in a plastic bag, despite their intended purpose they were made just for getting the marshmallows past the lip of the kettle deep towards the orange and grey coals. I bought them, brought them home. Even though I live alone. 
They sit, on top of my fridge, out of sight. But when I do catch a glimpse of them you're with me, even for just a moment. 

 - Posted from my iPhone

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This page contains a single entry by dvsjr published on June 13, 2010 11:29 AM.

From Adrienne Rich's "Twenty-One Love Poems" was the previous entry in this blog.

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