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As We
Drove Through the Blizzard
by Todd
Swift
My mother showed me the house
She had lived in fifty years ago
When she had been a girl who threw
Glass at her enemies, and kept a pig
Named Margaret. My father kept
His eyes on the deteriorating conditions
Ahead, saying: soon we won’t see
A thing in front of us. For now, we
Could. The town my mother no
Longer lived in had big wood homes
With long, wide porches. Fir trees
Stood nearby. Christmas lights.
At the end of her street, the river
Was met by a little green bridge.
As we crossed, we saw icy water
Below. My mother pointed out a view
That had once been on the two dollar
Bill, before counterfeiters meant
They had to use a more complicated
Design. I had never loved her more
Than as she showed me her school,
Where she had walked and ran
And where she moved to later on.
So what if the weather made us slow?
We stopped to watch a white deer
Standing in a white field, not moving.
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Three Trees in Winter
by Ann Naylor
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