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by Patricia Russo The old man is weaving a net out of ashes in which to catch a name. She can tell his eyes are burning but he won’t stop to wipe them. She’d like to stroke his head as she passes behind him but he’d only shrug her off. She has names in every pocket tucked inside twists of pretty paper but he wouldn’t thank her for any of them so she keeps them for the children who visit her shyly on certain afternoons when a quarter moon is visible in the sky. * * * PATRICIA RUSSO's work has appeared in One Art, The Sunlight Press, Vagabond City, A Sufferer's Digest, Hex Literary, Eulogy Press, Revolution John, and Crow and Cross Keys.
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