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Other belles-lettres

OK, “Belle-lettres” is maybe a bit pretentious sounding. Suggestions other than “other” welcome. But over time I plan to regale you all here with bits and pieces that don’t fit the other categories under “Writer” — you know, poetry, excerpts from my teen diaries, old shopping lists . . .You can’t wait, can you?

So for now, here’s a little poem from when I was 20  that I still like, written before I set out for several months abroad:

There was frost
                      like salt
on the ground the day of my leaving
there was no wind
               or movement in the air
                       and yet
from the tree outside my window
           the grey leaves
                            tumbled and fell
          like wounded birds