The Pink Balloon
My daughter gently pushed
the pink balloon
through my line of vision,
breaking the connection
between my eyes
and the mundane downtown scene.
(it had become so in my use of it to withdraw)
My daughter knows me.
She doesn’t know
how well.
Mommy, look at the sun through the balloon.
I cannot describe how everything changed,
but suddenly
it was easier.
(this poem is from a contributor who wishes to be anonymous)
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