Lost in the long grass garden
somewhere amongst clover,
at the foot of the buttercups -
one red shoe.
As I persuade the tired dirt
from determined hands, flannel
chasing salt-streaked cheeks.
She is fighting the dusk.
I soothe and snap in turns
as I push and pull her
in and out of cotton tunnels.
Buttons cursed and done.
Finally, cradling her head
on my breast, where she once fed,
we pause, and agree
to find the shoe tomorrow.
Painting - 'Emmie and her Child' by Mary Cassat
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