Rising Billows

Diner’s brunch,
shadow of an historic day
looming long over decades
starting with pancakes

shared with my Father.
There was ample conversation
and birth date congratulating –
at the register, rising billows
from an ugly wound.
There on the screen,
as confusion still glossed
the panic mounted as across the blue
streaked a second hateful strike.
The screen was small,
tucked behind the ice cream counter
but that autumn day
no one looked anywhere else.


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