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Dot the I’s and Cross the T’s , poem by Joy Bowman

On her deathbed she asks me if I can still play  the piano, and begins to sing of jasper roads. I search the linen for for­got­ten cro­chet nee­dles  she swears are under the cush­ions.    Her hands nev­er stop mov­ing, trem­bling out  … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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