where passion lives
on our walk, with snow squeaking underfoot,
we pass a yard adorned with a hopping robin.
“do you know what you do when you see a robin?
dad told me,” my sister tells me.
you kiss your thumb,
then tap your hands together.
I practice the motion of my grandmother:
I kiss my thumb, then bump my fists.
a kiss for a robin.
M.B.B.
4/14/2020
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