Where I’m From by Ronda Redmond
I am from glorified rice and scalloped potatoes, from floors washed on hands and knees, carpets vacuumed stubby; from lemon wedges rubbed in the armpits of old white t-shirts. I am from Alfreda and Erna, and three dead husbands between them. From Sunday morning polka hour and faking sick to miss church. I’m from Come, […]
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