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Poetry | July 2013

Strength

By Vicki L. Wilson

You, at two and a half,
walked away from seeing Santa
by whom you had been struck mute,
only to whisper,
after we were too far away for him to hear
–and you were holding my hand when you said it–
that you wanted a fire truck, please.
I want a fire truck, please.
It was maybe the please.
And how I stopped myself right then
from going to the toy store
is an example I can use anytime
my willpower is
ever in question.

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