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Red Wine

I rolled the bottle over with my toe,
small chunks of sand tossed about inside

It looked recent, maybe from the
night before.
I wondered if they were legal or just
summer kids trying to find their own nook
on this tiny island.

There were rocks everywhere. Rocks
and cliffs and dirty sand, not the postcard
you find on main street.

But he was fascinated by it all. He had seven
hundred photos from the trip, obsessed
with getting the perfect angle and light.

I wonder if he took a picture of my mother,
more beautiful than ever,
sitting on the cliffs alone.

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