HOW A POEM BEGINS
By Grace CavalieriIt’s a little thing. Could be
the long o’s in Kosovo, or
a woman
alone in the street
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The Wall
By Grace CavalieriThe child stands weeping.
She holds uncooked rice in one hand waiting.
She's idealized into a picture
Verities
By Grace CavalieriMaybe she had dementia,
the old lady in the woolen hat,
I don't know, but she