Small Stones, Day 24

I stand in the high school parking lot, looking east.
Just 7:30.

In the deep, triangular notch of the hills,
over the roof of the middle school next door,

and behind the flag poles (still barren)
the sky is golden,

deep rich gold,
under the low thick gray cloud cover.

I dig out my cell phone,


send to my husband,
knowing the color won’t come out right,

can’t come out right.

Beside the next car,
another teacher does the same.

Hers, she tells me,
goes to a son in Afghanistan.


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