Childhood House
aidan quinlan
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by Eric Ormsby (b.1941) After our mother died, her house, our childhood house, disclosed all its deterioration to our eyes. While living she had screened us from, or we hadn't seen, the termite-nibbled floorboards and the rotting beams; the wounded stucco hidden by shrubbery; the frayed, unpredictable wiring and the clanking labor of the hot-water...

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