Impressionism: Musee D’Orsay

Editor back-issues, poetry

I roll him out to the Water Lilies, breakaway one foot at a time.  I watchmy father from across the room, baldhead angled up, swaying under eightby eight feet of psychedelic purples, blues,and living greens. I read once that waterlilies are always hungry, and I’m thinkingthis when my father is pulled out of hischair into the pond, his morphine pumpdrifting…

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