Grief by Raymond Carver Woke up early this morning and from my bed looked far across the Strait to see a small boat moving through the choppy water, a single running light on. Remembered my friend who used to shout his dead wifes name from hilltops around Perugia. Who set a plate for her at his simple table long after she was gone. And opened the windows so she could have fresh air. Such display I found embarrassing. So did his other friends. I couldnt see it. Not until this morning.
Posted on: Wed, 14 May 2014 21:37:22 +0000
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