To grieve
an American grief
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To grieve
an American grief
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Wedged in my plantar fascia’s rivers of tissue, the tip of a spike from the locust tree—some long as a boning knife—whose thorn ...
What I want from you has little to do with sex, though it, like wine and bread, rests on the table between us: the curse that escapes your craned neck; the way you ...
It was a spectacular spring: sparrows bickering in the trees, the street carts smelling of syrupy cashews in front of the Jewish Museum— you bought flowers, said Hi to ...