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An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tight She hears my feet Tilting her face #793 [8/11/05] Notes by the author: "I think of myself as an old wood pile you might say, and so I use that analogy here: in my poem "An Old Wood Pile," not out of disrespect. My mother had her mission, I was part of it. She was part of mine. I think I have learned to do one thing, if anything, in life, which is to examine it; otherwise, for me it would not be worth living. For this is where the truth of the matter is. Why do we do what we do; my mother said, "Who wants to live like this??" and I had to make a choice for her, after she made her choice. We live in a world where most people, willing or unwilling live in a pretense, when my mother said want she said, there was no more deception for her, if there ever was any. She wanted to go to the next level, and said goodbye in her own way. As we will in time." Dennis Siluk see his books at http://www.bn.com or http://www.abe.com
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