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                                          here is a triplet of early poems
            evoking a different season in a different time by a younger mlr
                      of my eternal grandmother
                      who died in 1989 but remains
                      one of the strong threads that
                                completes me through time

 

‘my grandmother’s …’ the zen of grandmothers

 

morning a pastel sketch with word-highlighting

 

morning / through the / open door my grandmother lived through open doors and allowed the puffs of air in that we might breathe

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: “crop / rotation”
muse wormhole: ‘how beautiful …’
Nan wormhole: ‘standing astride …’
openness wormhole: travelling is fresh

 

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