Tag Archives: Gail DiMaggio

Depth Perception in Hawks

Snow settles in the seams of the flagstone our father wrestled into walkway while in the warm kitchen at the head of the family table he wields knowledge like an ax. I am good-girl under his hail of facts: Abel, … Continue reading

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We Try to Make Something

Retired into the cat’s yawn of his final years my father would hustle my mother down to low-carb granola, the recliner, the remote, punch insulin into her stroked-out arm and disappear into a workshop stuffed with three-legged chairs, silent clocks, … Continue reading

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Vestal

I gave her canvas gloves for Christmas, but Mary kneels barehanded in the perennial bed where – immune to October cold – she’s laying out an April firestorm of tulips named red emperor. Her hands are dark with dirt, scraped … Continue reading

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What’s Hidden

Passing the trimmed hibiscus of Wailani Place, the children saw a path or, anyway, a gap and – breaking the law of come straight home – turned up the mountain flank. The path ran out at a bank of leaves … Continue reading

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