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… in the twirl of a leaf to the ground, the shimmering heat blazing off the white sand of a beach, the rigor mortis of muddy boots on a wooden porch. Sometimes, the silence of trauma circles back to me like a muted song caught in a never-ending…
Theodore McDowell
Jenine Bsharah Baines
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I love this line, Theodore
J…Jen…Jeni…Jenine... Proper names are poetry in the raw. (W.H. Auden) Poet, singer, seeker, hippie grandmother gleefully revealing herself
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