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poems
Uncle Marty
The glinting snow began to melt as it hit my numb hand.
The sound of a dog barking fades into the distance, the cemetary is quiet.
The stone in front of me reads: MARTY ROMAN SUNDHOLM.
My tears long gone, frozen on my lashes.
I begin to sing random melodies, my voice carrying slightly higher and higher until I grow hoarse.
I kneel blowing a kiss to the stone, and I walk away.





Stars
The golden threads of sunlight appear whiping away the last remnants of stars.
I sigh as I walk back down the dusty trail, animals skittering left and right.
The frigid cold reaches my already chilled skin, this is the time I hate. This is Winter.
Some where up ahead a robin is calling to her friend the mourning dove. I smile and think of all they could say.
Stepping onto your porch I start to feel nervous, I glance at the harbored shadows and bit my lip.
You answer before I know knowing I am here pulling me into a warm tight embrace that leaves me without a breath.
Your eyes light up when I say hello and I no longer feel the frigid cold, but I see the stars that have long since gone staring back at me.





 
 
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