I came home
to my son
one night,
already sleeping,
clutching a framed
picture of his dad
and me,
his face
buried in a dress
that I had tossed
aside
that morning.
My clothes
in my son's
embrace
hold depths
of meaning
I will never quite
fathom.
Nothing I throw
aside
is worthless,
nothing I say
is insignificant.
(Dec. 2, 2009)
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