Legacy

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A horse-drawn carriage

passes by in another

 

age—leaves of ash

 

and birch pressed

into the pages of a book

 

your grandmother will

 

never read again

as she pumps the pedals

 

of a player piano—

 

“Come Come Ye Saints”

drifting out the windows

 

of an Arts and Crafts

 

bungalow—tea roses

in the garden drooping

 

over the day’s abyss—