feverishly
you loved
her
so much so
you
held her hand
in
yours
now the McBeth stain holds you captive
a self-given-guilt no washing can free
seventy-five years have passed
your liquid love
hidden away
deep beneath
your hands
now cracked
like dried earth
you had the flu
you were a child
and she was only two
how were you to know
what your hands of love could do?
you should know:
no-one
blamed
you
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