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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, … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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