© Marie Marshall.
What we don’t have is what has not made us (?)
In a way the lack has.
“by that one connection.”
Luna the killer whale drifted into Nootka Sound.
he splashed and played; reached out.
A sea world thrill kill cult formed.
Luna’s playful nature was banned.
The Mowachaht knew Luna as grandfather,
and still see him in the stars.
You have it exactly.
I always pay heed to your words. Love this.
Well, I suppose they do deserve a wee modicum of attention…
Fuzzyfelt, my arse! I adore this poem. It is my life – beyond your ken of what has happened in my life; yet, you have hit upon the meat of the matter of me. I am delighted to read it many times over. Indeed, what is it like? And orphaned are many of us. T XXXX
Despite the fullness of your comment, the only image I have in my mind is you with fuzzyfelt all over your arse, sis.
Well, there is that.
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