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The Man With His Back To The Room


She always relished the first big reds of May. Would rub them over her bread as they did in Gerona when she was a girl &

garlic & oil & salads in winter with green & tart & a Sofrito she slathered on spinach to make it sweet &

crawling on hand & knee in her grandfather's garden to find the ripest under the vines & peeling them &

scooping out seeds & building her first pasta con tomate y pesto for Niko her Italian &

well chilled Gaspacho for Gabrielle her Spaniard & fried for her mother who calmed their heat with a cool alioli & the ripest

she'd squeeze to a bota & pack her case & ride with you to a cool spring where you'd swim with her under the willows & lie down with her

in the cool grass & tear the bread & spread the ripened cheese & fill your mouth with juice - its ages - green & white & pink & red.

Barcelona Diary
It's Mother's Day
By Dawn's Early Light at 120 Miles Per Hour
The Man With His Back To The Room
Intimacies, Prose. Poems and Stories
Homage to a Widow
It's Only TV
Improvisations - Chapbook
After Goya
Improvisations - From Contemporary Music
Mustering What's Left