Poetry

Sticks and Stones

We hiked along the shoreline
of the Grand Marais Harbor.
I touched every piece of
driftwood I found,
marveled at the smoothness
not unlike your baby skin.

You were too young to pick
rocks this trip, but we came
most years for many years after.

Once we reached Artist’s Point
we set up the tripod and took
a family photo.

That family no longer exists
and in the photo, if you look
closely, I think we all knew
it would end this way.

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