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The Fiddlehead
Atlantic Canada's International Literary Journal
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Drysdale, Carla
House: of winter
But can't hear laughter's voices in rooms of rain
House: of prayer
Unconscious starless refuge. Poetry
House: of fury
And lick the sutures clean between our ghosts.
House: unlit
Describe the secne, you said. The house was dark
Current Issue:
No. 301