MAGNITUDE
She welcomes hello with eyelashes that blink in waves
and I am the shore, the resting place for her smile.
She shrinks with fragile breath bolstered by a long
silver cord, as if connected to heaven.
God makes oxygen machines.
She says bye but my stomach says wait,
and I wonder when I return if she'll be here.
Empty space will wave to me.
A hurricane with a magnitude of years.
And the richter scale of sobs will be shooting off the charts.
Judith Pordon
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