The Sound of My Name – Dily Morris

Over and over

I call her back to me–

her flowered bathrobe

with pink trim around the collar

glasses a little crooked

hair wispy white.

Scuffing blue terrycloth slippers

she turns toward me,

grasping the counter edge for balance,

and speaks my name

with more love than anyone

ever squeezed into one word.

Over and over

I listen to the sound of my name–

the memory of her, speaking my name.


Dily Morris

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