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Tag Archives: Tyler Gadaire
Mother, I’ve not always loved you the way a son should; I’ve choked on your name, roiled your bones. Spurn has grown like weeds in my chest, a greenhouse rotted, curses burrowed like worms under wet rock. I’m the graft … Continue reading
used to have ivory trim around the front cover, small delicate etchings, lines like calligraphy, the center image a plain slab of navy blue, almost wine. It had ten or eleven pages of my sister and me, photos of us … Continue reading
for Massachusetts and another vacation to see Nana on her horse farm, or Grandmother on her taut, frigid lake, I should be thinking about Brimfield’s Flea Markets and the claustrophobic mile of tents & antique clocks, hand-cut fruits – stalks … Continue reading
“The death of a beloved is an amputation.” ― C.S. Lewis Late June at Gram’s usually means 5 a.m. wake-ups, red-winged blackbirds, Natural American Spirit & Dunkin’s. This year, it meant watching my Grandfather die in his sleep. The Hospice … Continue reading
I don’t go back expecting a grave; I expect to see lupines – violet, sweet blue – behind the grass-laced dirt hill. I expect to see the shedding of pine trees under our homemade swings, odd planks of wood left … Continue reading