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Last of Her KindFor Eunice Baumann NelsonIndian Island, Old Town, Maine June 2000 Last of her kind wild orchid blooming in winter. Raven hair gone white memory flown away the loon cries on the river. We laugh at ourselves eating fresh strawberry pie with plastic forks. Chain smoking "Indins don't die of lung cancer" tobacco is sacred. "Tell me when she leaves" I make her daughter promise and I will sing her home. |
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Issue #18, December, 2000 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.