poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:029

      The Room Where Sometimes in the Silence Love Can End
RICHARD FEIN : Filling in Last Clues
ANJANA BASU : Orange Stein
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The Room Where Sometimes in the Silence Love Can End
  The room is too small for a serious debate between two lovers who are no more, but perfect for the silences of space, the cosmos swallowing up comment, leaving only one exit for both of them, each not wanting to be the first.

poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:029

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Filling in Last Clues
The bottom left was unfinished. Usually it was all done in an hour, neatly and in ink. But he never finished high school, for he was the oldest child, and my grandparents could hardly pay the rent, so his wages became dollars per hour instead of A's and B's. He was a cloth cutter, saved, started a business, was called to war, survived, drove a cab, started a new business, eked out a profit, and supported my mother, my sisters and me. He was called Sol, a star in my eyes, but actually short for Solomon, the indeed wise. Even in battle he carried a dictionary, for there were always new words to learn. When I was little, my sisters and I would giggle, when we'd overhear him reciting funny-sounding words. Years later, I also recited some Shakespeare. He'd do the New York Times crossword every evening, a kind of daily devotion. But the bottom left of the last one was unfinished. After those final days I filled in the lower left boxes. It was my prayer of mourning. It took me an entire day, and I used pencil and made many messy erasures. But I wasn't finished. One final clue needed solving. Under the ACROSS column I added this clue - What Solomon was - And under the puzzle boxes I drew more boxes and filled in the answer: S-C-H-O-L-A-R.

poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:029

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Orange Stein
An orange is an orange is a mandarin is a tangerine Is a nimbu making sour faces Sharp as a knife sliced Teeth set on edge on a wall, salted With an edge of cut glass and a slide of pepper To sandpaper the sun on with a sliver of saliva, Squeezed nervously spits seeds in self-defense Like a blood moon like a sun like glass sliced

poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:029

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary

DAVID FRASER : The Room Where Sometimes in the Silence Love Can End
RICHARD FEIN : Filling in Last Clues
ANJANA BASU : Orange Stein

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