(a moment in July, 1999)

imagine
an announcement of your arrival
and eight small feet running towards
you, sticky hands and hair that smells
like grass
you went to check the mail, inhaling
the familiar aroma of wet newspapers
a fresh breath of summer, exhaling
two clanks on the pot, dinner ready
this moment.
a moment that you worked towards
the moment that you lived for

how much life would you collect
every time you came home to love
and every time you came home to silence?

how do you measure the moments in between
the hours slaving towards survival
and
the minutes of warmth and comfort

how do you measure a life?

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