Imprint
Reaching across decades of memories,
she hands me the flesh-colored circle
hardened with my tiny handprint.
Her eyes are damp, face soft.
Do you remember making this?
Looking at it closely, I do.
Thirty years have passed since I pressed my hand
into the cold, damp clay and held it there,
creating a permanent keepsake of my childhood.
Part of me will always be her baby.
Watching you make your own imprint on this life
I know that part of you will always be mine.
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