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‘𝟓𝟒

First memories my mind recalls:
Wet streaks upon the canvas walls,
The steady rain a soft lament,
The jumbled stuff within the tent,
All that we had in one small space,
The beauty of my mother’s face,
Skinned knees, and measles, chicken pox,
A dwelling built of cinder blocks,
My father lifting me on high,
My wonder at the pale blue sky,
A soldier’s trunk, with spoils of war.
Some memories of fifty four.

— D.N. O’Brien