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Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942 |
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Everything has been taken that anyone thought worth taking. The stairs are tilted, scattered with sycamore leaves curled like ammonites in inland rock. Wood shows through the paint on the frame and the door is open--an empty room, sunlight on the floor. All that is left on the porch is the hollow cylinder of an Albert's Quick Oats cardboard box and a sewing machine. Its extraterrestrial head is bowed, its scrolled neck glistens. I was born, that day, near there, in wartime, of ignorant people.
Sharon Olds
Read poems about / on: people
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Cokbod Lodwogo (10/1/2005 9:04:00 AM)
This is a very cool poem. The shit that happened during these times was bad. |
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