would walk us
through
the north reading woods,
the same
path she took
when she was a young girl.
there was an
old stone wall
half over
that she would say,
this where we rest,
let's stop here.
i remember
her blonde curls
around her blue framed
glasses,
lighting a cigarette,
blowing smoke into
the cold Massachusetts air
as we
grew further
and further towards
our own lives,
our beaten paths.
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