| I’ve been blessed with a few gusts of wind, a few loves to wave goodbye to. I still think of mother’s kitchen, sorry for tantrums of way back when. No frost lodged in me then. In those days snow spread through town like an epidemic: how archival the blankness seemed. If you flew above the shell of the old house it was nothing really: there was no story to our little ranch house, so you couldn’t hear a thing. Copyright @ 2014 by Ira Sadoff. Used with permission of the author. |
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