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  • I recall a morning in winter
    a silent car ride to catholic school with
    our father
    down the backroads of Derby

    before we found the photographs of our mother
    before grandma forgot our names
    and the lock of hair was cut
    and the purple stone
    set in gold
    that sat on nana’s kitchen table


    Looking up through the moonroof
    at all those frozen trees
    cracking under the immense weight
    while he whispered to us
    repeatedly and
    unknowingly
    how it looked just like a wonderland.
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