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WHEN A WOMAN NEEDS A FIRE IN THE NIGHT
In my backyard nook, the moonlight’s dear silver calls. What a project it was! A woodlot lumpy with garbage—former tenants’ milk cartons, clothes on hangers covered with a thin layer of dirt, and the detritus of the landlord’s begrudging repairs–shingles and flashing, nails, board rot. The glass! Shards everywhere in Read more…