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Mother and Child at Pompeii
Peter Huggins


Not the ones covered in ash,

The shell of their remains.
Not the ones painted
 
By da Vinci or Raphael
Or any other master
Of ethereal blue.
 
A living mother pushing
A baby in a stroller
On the reclaimed streets
 
Of Pompeii. Chic in her silk
Shirt, jeans, and sandals,
She pushes past me.
 
Their presence fills me
With a happiness I can’t
Explain. I stand still,
 
 
Hear the wheels of the stroller
Squeak on the stones
Just as I hear the wheels
 
Of Roman chariots
Grind through the press
Of people and I feel
Both in and out of time.
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