one hundred and seventy one days since
we've seen Kate or kateandchristopher as it seemed to tumble out of our mouths
in ashland. when we were eating blackberries picked directly from the bush
in the alley behind the cabin.
I miss her freckles.
screens don't do well with freckles.
they're better than the screens can paint them.
more defined and purposeful and individual than a computer understands.
I miss her half-filled mugs of tea everywhere.
like the daughter who ends up saving her family in signs
because she leaves glasses of water all around the house.
I miss swinging on the porch swing and seeing her eyes
look actually into mine rather than just maybe near where mine are
on her laptop.
I can't help but wonder how many more days
till I can see all her long black tangled braid hair again. maybe a full year. maybe more.
for some reason it makes me feel ill. in my stomach and my chest.
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