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crane

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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Marjorie Buettner


Generations

Holding her until she falls asleep in my arms, I sense the generations flow through her blood uniting us all. Is it my mother I am holding, my aunt, my sister, brother, uncle, father or myself? The distinctions fall away and I am only love, loving the tiny baby asleep in my arms.

after feeding
the heaviness
of her sleep




crane