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Marnay. May 2017
“One of my friends died yesterday, back home. / My newest grandchild will be born next week. // Three Junes ago, the roses were first blooming. / This May, the roses are nearly ending. // But I woke up with the words in my head / seventy years of beauty.” Shifting between poetry and prose, Ann Fisher Wirth sifts a life among others far from home, in a small town in France.