M A Y 1 9 9 6 ![]() POSTSCRIPTby Debra Pennington | |||||||||||||
Hear Debra Pennington read this poem (in RealAudio): (For help, see a note about the audio.) |
As if hung by its hasp and dropped, my mother's old letter chest lay smashed, my father's ardent hand strewn through neighbors' yards; for years I've grasped after those bits of flapping snow.
Copyright © 1996 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; May 1996; Postscript; Volume 277, No. 5; page 103. |
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