My Daughter’s in Rehab

Too late for hugs

or for tough love

Sit back in the easy chair

the ease is in the glass

Rippling memories

all of them pure

all of them in Sunday dresses

He’s always holding her hand

She’s always smiling about flitting feelings

She stands by his hip

The old sips are vague

They were punctuations on happiness

Happy and oblivious when love was liquid

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