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poet

Theodore Deppe

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by this poet

poem
Like a woman in Vermeer, she ironed 
by the kitchen window, blue towel turbaned 
about wet hair, three-quarters of her face 
suffused in sun. From the cellar doorway 
I called to her, unwilling to descend 
those nightmare stairs alone, unable to compel her 

to join me. Mother gazed out at the sky.
Ignored the