augury doggerel

Sunday, November 10, 2002


The kid has closed the door and put on Appalachian Spring. When I go in, she is quietly stepping through her own choreography and I am told not to sing while I hang laundry on the clotheshorse. I don't know the story of this particular production, but I feel certain that it is informed by the sorrows of a young soul who has been forced to eat an entire bowl of her grandmother's barszcz. I go off to tend our old heater.


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