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A Remebrance


 The validation of all a person, another human,

    can mean to another....

        may only be felt.


Men have emotions:  deep emotions, not singular either.

    


The setting:  (Provisions Bakery & Deli in a sleepy Ohio town, waking up amongst sweet smells of baked goods and people coming and going.  Two tables over a venerable elder sits, walking-stick stretched out on right of table.  As a dawning, attention is transformed, the table has become an altar: his wife is framed in a small 3x5 window in the center of that flat square. Three empty chairs surround the small table.  "Tuesdays through Saturday--it's my morning ritual," he almost has an apologetic tone.  It's Friday.)    



Across the span of something we might call, Occupancy, that transitory reality 

    has dictated a type of musical chairs.

        One two three or more.  Twenty or more filled with family and friends, 

            today just one chair, yes...


One today.  A profound story contained in a simple frame 

    upon the small wood square--a remembrance.

Some look for the sacred beneath steeples:

    I merely had to glance over my shoulder--two tables over.


We are all guests at the table of life,

    now approaching 9 billion frolicking guests.

We are worried, not about sufficient space around the table, no, no, no...

    We worry should we be remembered or not.


If a singular sample shows aught, then it may be 

    more true that someone will remember us.

One remembrance...

One may suffice.

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