"I remember my mother toward the end,
folding the tablecloth after dinner
so carefully,
as if it were the flag
of a country that no longer existed,
but once ruled the world."
- Jim Moore, b. 1943
This prose is so beautiful, yet so hauntingly tragic; an ode to nostalgia with a tinge of bittersweetness. It makes me want to cry, thinking, how many more
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