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Abstract
fcase holding decades of thoughts his truths unraveling in my quaking hands</p><p id="155d">© Samantha Lazar 2020</p><p id="78e3">More from the author:</p><div id="80c1" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-silver-briefcase-how-as-an-adult-child-i-learn-to-let-go-over-and-over-c1e57d7e7c0c"> <div> <div> <h2>The Silver Briefcase: How, as an Adult Child, I Learn to Let Go Over and Over</h2> <div><h3>I held my dad’s hand — thumbs like mine, familiar as if I had been holding it for 38 years.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="
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background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*bBDm06fCrxzxzkZG)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="7162" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/humane-db10819ca709"> <div> <div> <h2>Humane</h2> <div><h3>Sky Collection — Poem 53</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*[email protected])"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>
in my dream he is a writer and so expressionless in speaking so misunderstood until suddenly his words thunder from two counties over startling, hidden in the horizon obscured by forests
but then, a thin pocket a make believe silver lining in his silver briefcase holding decades of thoughts his truths unraveling in my quaking hands
© Samantha Lazar 2020
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