I left her today
A small vulnerable
Girl. She's gone to
Visit her grandmother
A thousand miles from home.

She cried and hugger her
Daddy tight this morning
When she came downstairs,
Her eyes drugged with sleep.
She clutched my hand tightly.

Yesterday, we packed
Her suitcase, she, running
Errands with anticipatory
Excitement; briskly,
Importantly, happily.

Today, her thin shoulders
Hunched as she fought to hold
Her tears. A quick glance
From me, and she relaxed
Her guard momentarily.

Cheerfully, brightly,
I reassured her, propped
Her sagging confidence
And closed the door
Of the little car.

We both drove away,
Separately. Her small black
Dog ultimately expressed
Our mutual loss
With a soul-deep whimper.

June 17, 1969
Margie Greenwood