Nancy Davies

Passage
December 23, 2010

I see a woman strolling down the street and I feel, there goes my mother.

But sixty years ago my mother died.

I see a boy walking on a wall  and I think, there goes my son.

But sixty years ago I had no son. Is this lanky child

the grandson of the son I never had?

Who names who we are? Who remembers how we came and went?

Who keeps photos of who we never were?

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