POETRY THE BALLOONS Paul Martin The morning after Rita’s birthday celebration, we descended the stairs, surprised the balloons had moved from the dining room to the kitchen their colored...
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FLOATING ON THE LEHIGH So I wouldn't forget even one of the sins from the Table in my prayer book, I wrote them down and recited them from a notebook page I unfolded in the confessional,...
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MOWING for what I hope is the last time until spring, I remember the house at the bottom of Canal Street, its back porch sinking into a kingdom of tall weeds where a junker rested on...
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D.. ~q 0 Horses (To E) On my desk a photograph shows the two of us smiling broadly, my arm across your shoulders, each of us holding a glass of wine under the tall shade of the grove in...
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The Announcer On a balmy night my brother hunched over an empty glass on the kitchen table bringing us the Dodgers and Phils from the Ebbets Field of his imagination, my younger brother and I...
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The Moment Across the field at a pond obscured by Black Willows I turned a certain way and saw a Great Blue Heron beside a white limb in the water. Naked. Uncertain. Like the soul in its...
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