The Visitor (Carolyn Forche Poem)
In Spanish he whispers there is no time left. It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat, the ache ...
In Spanish he whispers there is no time left. It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat, the ache ...
What you have heard is true. I was in his house. His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. ...
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