We meet loss
We first meet loss, I surmise, in childhood. Here there is a wound Mother’s kiss cannot make better. Or maybe there is an injustice. An inconsequential story: In school I was asked to write a question about food groups. I wrote a question, “How many?” and answered “7.” The teacher took my question mark as a “2” and so my answer as “27,” making it wrong. How unfair! So loss grows as big as an implacable teacher.
:- Doug.
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