by Angelina Morin
A pastel store with chimes and decor meant to be strung to a tree or in a garden
She had wind chimes hanging from her ceiling in the first room you entered
They harmonized together with the wind of every visitor
Japanese beetles that are commonly mistaken for ladybugs
All they were missing was that red coat
Roses, she loved roses
And hummingbirds
Her home was warmed by her grandchildren and creatures
Sweet strawberry hard candy, and warm milk with our fruit loops
She’d take you in, if you wandered to her doorstep
The longer I look the more I see her
But not her,
Just the memory of her that I breathe into
To become the wind to
Her immortal chime
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