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NOTES FROM THE CONDOMINIUM

I Opening the window onto night I hear someone’s father pray the Our Father while my mother talks at the TV, her empty calling out. II Under the dark cave my blanket makes, I hear a dish crash, shatter— then a faint, pulsing cry. But maybe it’s just an owl or a neighbor’s dog whimpering. III At noon a woman climbs the terrace, a basket tucked under her arm. Suddenly, she sings and her voice fills the air with brassy scattered notes. Even the hallway, an empty throat, echoes with her words, as if singing: “Here I am. I exist too”

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Profile for cusoa

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

Profile for cusoa