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Open the first photo album you can find — real or virtual, your call — and stop at the first picture of yourself you see there . Tell us the story of that photo.





Looking through old photos,

I’m stopped in my tracks.

The moment we first said hello

As she rocked me to and fro.


In a blink of an eye,

It seems I was born.

A heavy heart and a sigh,

Fourteen years later, I would mourn.


Time with her was far too short,

A mother’s love never dies.

Memories safely locked away

Recalling her voice, quieting my cries.


The story of my first image

Is of love without an end,

A closeness that won’t diminish –

The origins of my first true friend.


© S. Reed

I speak more of my grieving process here


8 thoughts on “Origin”

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