Were you really just here? Are these dim, lake lit memories real? Can I step back into them if I call them up? Will I ever be able to finish writing a sentence without a child beckoning, requesting, opening up their never closing baby bird beaks for the last drops of me?
Sigh, I remember, I remember. Just a few days ago their voices were on the other end of a tinny poor reception cottage phone and I slept until 11.
I will write more, I will dig up and spit out our stories.
