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Julia Rietmulder-Stone

REACHING FOR FLORENCE

Everyone was crying
but Aaron couldn't stop.
There was nothing we could do
and I just wanted to get on with class.
I thought, I should be crying, too.

Beneath the murmur
of Mrs. MacAdam's comforting whispers
I squinched my dry eyes closed
and reached for the last time
I'd seen Florence.
I smelled the cloying sweetness
of her honeysuckle perfume, the staleness
of the Senior Center air.
I listened for her cracking voice
reading "Frog and Toad"
and pressed close to her tissue skin
while I tried to follow along.

I tried to imagine
never seeing her again -
but what is emptiness
at five?

I could hear sniffles all around,
clenched my eyes
tighter, reaching
for something to make it real.

My eyes are still closed.
These little craters keep accumulating.
I finally begin
to taste salt.

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