Poem.
DiggingBetween my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.Under my window a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father ... his shoulder, digging down and down For the good turf. Digging.The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch [more...]
Date: 2009-01-18 13:00:35
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Why we can’t wait
The following post was written last year, the Sunday before Martin Luther King day ... cleaning up the day’s play in the living room when suddenly our apartment was filled with the sound ... , and I went to the front window to see where they were searching. I couldn’t see the helicopter [more...]
Date: 2009-01-20 04:29:09
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