Snapdragons bustier’d alongside the driveway—it’s the most summery Christmas ever, home,my childhood dome still rose of regimen: soft-drop dumplings,brocade-wrought nurturance,an indoor climate of hard skin,sandstone-cored resilience where burr-words don’t make you furl. I tumbleweed back to preteens—there’s my aunt,seasoned yarrowsporing my needs,sweet-peppering (as with dad who abandoned me& mom of mine who early afterlife—a peach carnation tu…
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