Joseph A. Pinto

barflypoet & author of dark fiction

Husk The call came that you were gone and all that remained was the simple act of driving to see you one last time. Your own terms abided always something I will admire. You left me a husk something you never were something hard to erase from memory always unforgiving. And during that simple act …

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My grandmother passed yesterday.  She was 96 and still sharp as a tack.  I was blessed to see her one last time just the weekend before, & the only thing I could think of was grilled cheese & tomato soup. See, as a kid in grade school, I always walked to my grandmother’s house at lunch …

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