Tag Archives: Margaret Rozga

Red Fleece Gloves

Skin worn thin inside the base of my thumb. Raked lawn already leaved again. Green tomatoes picked in advance of frost ripen indoors but slowly and less sweet. Light at 6:30 this morning. Last week at this same time it … Continue reading

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Cassiopeia in October

What is sky?             Midnight crushed velvet             an autumnal lake close             to frozen. An austere heart What is heart?             A song, Jesus Loves Me             a change of key—Stop             in the Name of Love What is love?             The fold of wasp             in … Continue reading

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I Want to Be with You (Canim Seninle Olmak Istiyor)

In the crowded second floor dining room eggplant tender as the love song woven into the clatter: Zuhal Olcay sings I want to be with you. Listen for the voice of the plums, each at first small and green but … Continue reading

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Earth      Air      Fire

I am a balloon. My child let go the string. How to bear such loss? A man stands up leans against the wall as if looking for landmarks. Grief walks a crooked path a meandering trail that narrows disappears in … Continue reading

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