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1993
Literary Art
Visual Art
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The Dry Barren Season
Annie Merz
Mother scratches her cracking skin
And her eyes burn
And the whites around her pale irises
Are streaked with red.
She wraps her shawl around her hovering shoulders
Staring out the window
At father
Digging into the cracking dirt
For the last withered potatoes.
He works in silence
And with his shoulder
Wipes a tear
Because of the dry, barren season.
The pine tree stands limp in the corner
No cranberry streamers to adorn its branches.
I hear Father's boots
Drag on the cold floor
And the water boiling the potatoes
That we say thanks for
And eat in silence.
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