Category: Poetry
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The mint and spice scent of my grandfather’s pipe tobacco, once lost
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A purple dome descends upon our house as my dad steps out of his 1987 Chevy Cavalier.
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Burning bright, making heat, it makes sense now
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I got a landmine for my last birthday. She ordered me to plant it in our yard.
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After retirement, the years become a blur
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flesh of fruit soft but un ripe
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I still write about sunsets. Mundane as it is, the closest I have ever come to God
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Tell me who you are.
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I still remember the day I sat on a padded bench among other women
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After we younglings in choir loft intone our last song, we close our hymnals…
