Theirs is a great Openness.
A space of generosity.
They always walk the talk.
My parents and their open fields.
The openness of their vowels spills over to the wide gaps of their souls.
I feel a warmth coming off their seas.
The gifts given to all the children they meet.
Their oaths are oracles. Giving what they don’t have.
In a Home Counties version of Russia,
my parents invent Glasnost.
Way before Gorbachev.
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