The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Unbeknownst to me, I’d boarded a ferry full of field trips

Rachael Conlin Levy
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Unbeknownst to me, I’d boarded a ferry full of field trips. As we left the dock, everyone spotted the harbor seal.

“Mr. Bobby! Mr. Bobby!” came shouts and leaps. “Mr. Bobby!”

“I named him,” one youngster insisted over the roar of the other children and the ferry. “I named him Mr. Bobby.”

So ownership was asserted over the creature, even as it slipped, slid, then resurfaced away from the foam and froth, away from the clamor, away, away, away.

Sometimes a week unwinds before it begins.

Like the ferry full of children, I’m happy to wave goodbye.

To this one.



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