for months i carried around
the smooth
stones
she kept on her kitchen sill.
it's what
you do in grief.
a scarf.
her ring, perfume.
small things of hers.
a pair of gloves,
her glasses.
but as time wore on.
each
was put away, or lost in
another move.
forgotten.
all but the stones, which
sit nearby
aligned
on a sill in the morning
light.
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