(or Ballad of the Red Lost Notebook)
Did you hide under the seat with change
and old receipts, on my right
in the passenger side? Did you hide
under the tree, whose mossy eyes can see,
and feet taste the rain, on the hill in the clay?
A cathedral and a school, the catholic principal –
they are no help at all. But a mother
holding grace and the heaviness of her place
knows where stories are kept safe.
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