your son
sends you a postcard
from Bali.
he has traveled
there with
his friend
and has already returned.
you stare
at the Indonesian
stamp
and markings,
the crimped edges,
his hand writing
that looks
the same as when
he was in the seventh
grade.
half script, half print,
not unlike
yours.
on the front is an island
sitting
in blue water,
a high cliff
covered in thick green
foliage.
he has returned, safely,
he thought of
you and sent
this card.
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