I remember…
By Cynthia S.
Tall, awkward, little girl
Looking in the mirror cries.
Odor of Old Spice surrounds her
before her grampa’s arms could.
He heard her distress, listened
with all his ears and whispers,
Don’t you know? A girl without freckles
is a night without stars.
He tucked her in
and turned out the light.
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