GH O TI

f i sh

Issue No. 1

House

The house of my grandparents,
austere as an antler,
why did I love it?
With its needy porch and its yard dirt,
its one magnolia that never blossomed,
its women--my grandmother, my aunt--
coming from their posts in the kitchen
after supper to the front porch,
giving the dark some starch,
their voices destined to drift
across green slopes that never existed,
clear ponds and fields
I'm obliged to invent.

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