Catherine Chandler

Supernova

Supernova

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

That summer when I couldn’t see
for grief — for who could guarantee
he’d ever walk again? – I’d sing
this song and pump my rusty swing,
till every bottle left the wall,
then start da capo (it was all
or nothing) in a voice, though small,
as if the magic chant might bring
my father walking back to me.

Wing-stroke

Wing-stroke

Drought

Drought

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