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Ghazal for Mother LoveMy arms around her like the pillar behind the prima donna,believing I can turn her towards love. The surgeon slips his scalpel into the chest wall. I watch. My mother feels her tears more than this. The nurse doesn't like it when one jokes. She prefers to open and close in silence. There are bouquets to bring home no memories to treasure. Snow falls, the wipers erase the marks. The dog waits in the yard, and barks. |
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Issue #10, June, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.