Inner reaches of Pride

In-Depend-ence Day.

She was at the centre with crowd milling about her.

Giving a 4-liner speech,

My girl.

On In-depend-ence Day, as she calls it.

Words tumbling out through her sweet, limpid voice,

consigning personality to the unsung hero featured

in her speech;

a woman, a warrior, a stuff of legend

lost,

completing the ordeal.

I come out of it skewered.

Skewered my pride with love, she did.

Distorting it well and good.

Unrecognisable.

Pride was pictured a certain shape in my head

And

she contorted it into a

Profound profile.

Depthless Pride.

Fulsome.

Body burning, throat clogging pride.

Pride arising from knowledge;

Knowing that

what my 5 year old did

could not in a possible way be reciprocated by a

5 year old ME.

No prose

no poem

pride.

Just memory meeting pride.

I took back an indelible souvenir.

Godsend.