Now Forty-Three

Her mom died at forty-nine
when she was twenty. Now
forty-three and a family of
her own, she chit chats
with a good friend from
college about the start of
gray at the temples. When
her father’s friend entered
the room, not having met
her before, he wondered
where he had seen that
face. He remembered and
said, “You look so much
like your beautiful mother.”
She teared, bit her lips
shook her head as if to
gain composure and hoped
he hadn’t seen the tears.
The friend hadn’t but her
father had as he wiped away
a tear of his own.


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