As the World Churns
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Bearing Fruit
In a Garden State
A Realization
Poetry Publisher
The Sculpturer
Human Beans
Hijab
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Blue Sundays
It has been a day of rest today, Sunday.
At least that is what it is suppose to be.
Sitting back watching re-runs of Gunsmoke,
then the door bell rings. Who could it be?
Nothing but a fisherman who used my tools,
who made sure he returned them to me.
Brought me some hot peppers, too. A couple days
worth. I can add them to my gumbo and stews.
These kinds of occasional interruptions I don't
mind. They are the good kinds.
They keep me from having the blues.
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