The same boots walked my mother to Galilee.
Kicking dirt out of her twenty-something way.
The same month which would birth her only daughter,
saw escaping North Country winters for
dust, and sweat, and nearly two-thousand years of equal dissension.

And twenty-something years later,
her only daughter comes with a new pilgrimage:
I am going to climb mountains.
I am going to change the world. 

“Me too,”
she quietly whispers,
as she digs the box from the dust and depths of the back of her closet-
no longer shared by Husband,
no longer filled with any youthful single-digit-
and pulls the tissue paper back,
for the first time in nearly twenty-something years.

Maybe there was one man-
they could both agree-
deserved to be called to,
dropped everything for,
and sought after.

 

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