Cotton and Visitation

Richard Halperin

My mother, our first night in New York,
pointed to a pillowcase on my hotel bed.
There was a smile in it, she said, and indeed
there was, made by some folds in the fabric.
A sign, she said, that our life in this new city
would work out. Did it work out?
A little complicated, that. But this night,
the smile visits me.

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