and scraped our knees,
which was
nearly every day, when we
felt the sting
of a bee,
or sprained an ankle,
or got a black eye,
my mother had a small
box of remedies
that she pulled down
from the closet in the hall.
she was Florence Nightingale
to the entire
neighborhood of children.
i can see and hear her now
calming a crying kid down,
telling him to sit still.
let me get the stinger
out, clean it up and then
you can go. grab a cookie
on your way out.
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