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Joanne the Poet - The Poetry of Joanne M. Clarkson



Not My Father’s Arms

As I sat with him that October afternoon, my friend, who was dying, revealed his worst recollection. Not the backwards premonition I expected of war, fractures, the premature passing of his only daughter, but an evening, he told me, when he was four or five. His mother gave permission for him to meet his father,…Read More »

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