Community Garden (Laure-Anne Bosselaar Poem)
I watch the man bend over his patch, a fat gunny sack at his feet. He combs the earth with ...
I watch the man bend over his patch, a fat gunny sack at his feet. He combs the earth with ...
I sold her bed for a song. A song of yearning like an orphan's. Or the one knives carve into ...
I love to lick English the way I licked the hard round licorice sticks the Belgian nuns gave me for ...
amidst swirling wine and flickers of silver guests quote Dante, Brecht, Kant and each other. I wait in the hall ...
Look at this storm, the idiot, pouring its heart out here, of all places, an industrial suburb on a Sunday, ...
Doors were left open in heaven again: drafts wheeze, clouds wrap their ripped pages around roofs and trees. Like wet ...
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