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[22] T he P otato L overs Of course, I hushed. It’s what they wanted. My eyes were dry as powder. Good dog, I buried grief that night in the funeral parlor. Paternal hugs stored in a trunk, not yet tagged unseemly, would be held against him later, rotting cloth of a suit no longer a la mode. I’d mourn in sleep, spend a lifetime wondering what it was I needed to forgive. And draw crooked trees afloat, without roots, believing in the strength of men, hearing again and again Mama’s carping judgment from the widow’s throne: I knew she’d crack. ...

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Additional Information

ISBN
9780874217971
Related ISBN
9780874217964
MARC Record
OCLC
650341890
Pages
93
Launched on MUSE
2012-01-01
Language
English
Open Access
No
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