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Last Supper
She graces us with her presence—
Gracious presence, divine and hers.
But leaning with damned dependence
On one who shared easier years.
We open our arms and hearts;
Familiar words are sought;
Remembered laughter echoes;
Our purpose for gathering forgot.
At table she lifts her glass.
“To the many, many good times.”
We join her in this toast and grace,
Shape our faces into smiles;
Our hearts silently breaking
For what will not be again.
Published in Rue Scribe, October 17, 2022​
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