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  • Bob Nimmo


poem by Bob Nimmo photograph, "Remember Me in Paradise," by Maura H. Harrison

Her brother died the other day

and then she came to me.

Her hair flowed loosely over cheeks

which pain had riven grey

evacuating any taste of gentle bloom

and tinkling tears left little room

for ought I had to say.

He is not dead I croaked

but then I knew he was.

He’s travelled on beyond

but so unsure

how could I know

how far beyond

his wretched soul could go.

How could I know

enough to heal her hurt and

catch her grief in tender words

of genuine relief.

He was a man who did much good

I staggered with a plastic smile

but in my heart I knew he was

a champion of guile.

Then her eyes deep pooled

such love and hope that I would

in my words confirm the stories

she’d been fed from childhood.

And I found I could.

There was no leap for me.

I knew on blood-soaked Calvary

a stranger had become a friend

to thieves. How much could

half-truths matter then.

I squeezed her hand and wordlessly

gave her a friend to cling to.

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