It's the ragged source of memory,
a tarpaper-shingled bungalow
whose floors tilt toward the porch,
whose back yard ends abruptly
...
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Oh, catfish and turnip greens, hot-water cornbread and grits. Oh, musty, much-underlined Bibles; generations lost to be found, to be found. I like all your poems dear Marilyn, my great Amercan Poetess,
best regrads from The Netherlands, Dutch Poetess from Chinese origin and born in Jakarta, Indonesia