by Hedy Habra



When I close my eyes
            I see the child in me
hug the hour hand
            licked by the flame
of memory emerging
            in stark darkness

a faint light filters
            through cracks
a half-open door
            frames a shadow
tiptoeing to make
            the moment endure

some nights fired
            tesserae reassemble
the father who left too soon
            guides the child’s
first steps holds the tiny hand
            over the ruled page




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