FALL/ WINTER 2016

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Barbara Novack

ALWAYS TIME FOR ICE CREAM

There is always time for ice cream
my father whispers over my shoulder,
something he believed
that I rarely take time for.
I lick my cone at Baskin-Robbins,
my tongue making slow rounds
lapping up soft vanilla
after the hard hurried day of errands and sadness,
Mom not where or who she should be,
he an essence over my shoulder
pleased
that I finally listened.


 

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