Musty Old Books

Musty Old Books

When the door to my mother opened
for the ninth time
I was born
into the land of strawberries
and Bantam roosters, into a storm
of purple lilacs and sweet cherry trees
with red arms reaching
like my brother’s and sister’s
come to carry me into the fields of alfalfa
and sweet clover where the rhubarb fanned
its green umbrella. Continue reading

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