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©2016-2018 by Pat Durmon, Poet. Proudly created with Wix.com

April 10, 2017

The dogwoods are blooming. I am returning home this morning from a poetry retreat. A son lives in a town between the retreat site and home. I call him, thinking we might have lunch together. He says, “Haven [my grandgirl] is in the Special Olympics today. Why don’t you...

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