Petit poÃ¨me en ProseJonathan Mayhew
In the old age children did not call their mothers â€œmomâ€â€” much less the mothers of other children. Womenâ€™s bones were brittle then, though the world was suppleâ€” heels clicking on tileâ€”I loved that sound. Recordings were ruined by the noise of passing traffic. This happened more than you might think. Righteous anger was stored in glass vials behind the druggistâ€™s counter. When they brokeâ€”watch out!
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