Coming and going

I remember my father coming and going growing up.

Coming home with Bonnie, a white and black dog teddy with a red bow, who’s fur I later decide to trim because I think it’s too long.

We’re in the hallway with brown tile floor and my dad is coming through the front door.

I think he is coming back from a trip to Florida but I can’t actually remember.

I stand in the hallway and watch him come through the door. He pulls out Bonnie from the suitcase and I take her in my arms. She’s soft and big and I squeeze her hard.

Many years later I come and go just like my dad. I arrive, only to at some point, leave again. Absence runs in my blood.


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