Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen (Lisa Zaran Poems)
Death is not the final word. Without ears, my father still listens, still shrugs his shoulders whenever I ask a ...
Death is not the final word. Without ears, my father still listens, still shrugs his shoulders whenever I ask a ...
You could die for it-- love, or refuse it altogether and know nothing except the urgency of youth. Men have ...
At one end of the couch you sit, mute as a pillow tossed onto the upholstery. I watch you sometimes ...
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