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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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