The picture of her and Baby Boy, snapped quickly with an old Instamatic and real film, has been in each and every old Filofax lugged about in handbags and satchels. A photo in a phone could never be this loved, bent from being taken out over and over again to show life and love, history and family.
When there is great beauty, there are fewer words.
I keep scooping up pens and cameras, attempting to tell a poem offered by fading light on a city street or a cat's heartbeat, or sorrow and loss, or the inevitable journey people I love take into the unknown.
"There needs to be another word for what we are to each other than family because it is so much better than that," she said recently.
Poem. Poem works.
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