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lyric essay

Creative Nonfiction, Everything, Issue 107, Prose, vagabond city

The Imprint of Grandfather’s Body by Isabel Hoin

lies its twisted self around the circumference of my brain. My age: eleven. The age I wished to be when he tumbled from earth to heaven: ten. Or twenty. Or thirty. Or any number beginning or ending with the number zero, because to the ancient Greeks “zero” is a non-number.“Nothing.” μηδέν. The number one (I […]

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