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Object Permanence

ISSUE:  Spring 2022


My daughter learns I’m there
even when I am not. I name this trust,

and I begin to exist
in her as she began 

to exist in me
before I saw her. 


You were thirty-three, your father and
my mother twins, our cells 

drawn to face one another,
as the image of the vase:

two straying lines,

It is joy to be hidden,
said Winnicott,

but disaster 
not to be found.


One line erased, the vase
disappears, the face 

that still sees sees a field: empty 
and full of grasses,

a drawing of nothing,
of everything, undivided: The only story 

of permanence I believe.
I name it trust.


But grammar 
is deep—I Love 

wants You,
my cells, their twins, 

your heart,
the vase,

your missing face
I’m still breathing toward,

still drawing. Close,
each time I look.



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