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Home | Sistine Willow
Aunt Marthy was packin a twelve gauge when she hid us under the weeping willow. Me and momma pressed flat to fescue but Marthy weren't afraid, said, Don't come after them, Dave. I'll have to pump some buckshot in you and that'll make it damn hard to sing Amazin Grace at the famly reunion. He left and when Aunt Marthy stood I thought she'd raise into the air, up through the green-ceiling'd light and take me with her to a place where we'd sit on a cloud and touch a finger to God's, just like in that pitcher book.
Stripping
I will find beautiful things and old strip them to the meat in a whirlwind of snow-dust but gently so the wood won't scream as it did today on our first time together I was careless
scoured through the paint
but tomorrow my hands will be graceful and precise I'll give you a new face stain it nutmeg brown to match your wooden eyes through snow so fine in whorls and grains I see your future |
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