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Tuesday, February 12, 2019

bombs like human tears watering the world’s gardens

The Tongues We Speak:

[W]henever Trouble came in the front door I ran out the back
And fell into the pit of my bones.

Escaped from those burning buildings, the past,
What balance can any of us hope for?

I was comparing lipsticks
The day Nagasaki vanished.

The day Solzhenitsyn disappeared into the Gulag
I was attending a cocktail party.

Perhaps there are only ashes in my handbag.

Patricia Goedicke.

ntodd

February 12, 2019 | Permalink

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