Carla Sarett
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Three Poems by Carla Sarett
Unsent Postcard I own too many heirloom timepieces like the broken grandfather clock, it never strikes the hour properly, it lags a minute then longer so by mid- summer 9 a.m. it might be any hour. It chimes the same for hours gained or lost. I can never grasp Daylight Savings, the flying back, the Continue reading
