The Boy (Marilyn Hacker Poem)
It is the boy in me who's looking out the window, while someone across the street mends a pillowcase, clouds ...
It is the boy in me who's looking out the window, while someone across the street mends a pillowcase, clouds ...
An unwrapped icon, too potent to touch, she freed my breasts from the camp Empire dress. Now one of them's ...
Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches, repeats old ...
August First: it was a year ago we drove down from St.-Guilhem-le-Désert to open the house in St. Guiraud rented ...
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