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  • Sarah Palladino

Away From Me

In the midst of April,

on a breezy afternoon,

a cardinal is flying away from a bird feeder

after hearing my feet crumple the dry grass.

Landing on a tree, shaking the branches and leaves.

She stands in a stream of sunlight

far enough to observe her beauty,

but completely out of reach.

She whistles— looks at me,

then flies away to areas unknown.

My backyard— the nature it holds.

A ground brought up on laughter

flourishing with shared experiences

between two of the same.

Used weekly— healthy, bright, our safe

haven with light shining down on

us as we create memories.

It's no longer thriving.

Creating and learning is now

desolate memories.

Slowly, our fabricated kinship


Our safe haven,

once happy and glowing

now gloomy and empty.

Like the cardinal we used to

watch, sharing stories, reinforcing

our love,

flew away, just as you did.

Now, I sit in my gazebo, looking

vacantly, uncomfortable.

All that remains is our beautiful

shared memories.

Memories I reminisce in as I sit

alone in the quiet.



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