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Don't Go
"Don't go" everything we said
said, though decades have meant
going, years meaningless
when he said, "Everything
will be all right," the same lie
I tell my own son, who's known
better from birth, as I have,
or so I thought as we clutched
each other before I drove off,
him tottering on a holly cane, smaller
and smaller in the mirror, my huge
father—riddle, holy terror, hero.
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