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By Lyn Lifshin my mother took out walnuts and chocolate chips. My sister and I plunged our fingers in flour and butter smoother than clay. Pale dough oozing between our fingers while the house filled with blond bars rising. Mother in her pink dress with black ballerinas circling its bottom turned on the Victrola, tucked her dress up into pink nylon bloomer pants, kicked her legs up in the air and my sister and I pranced thru the living room, a bracelet around her. She was our Pied Piper and we were the children of Hamlin, circling her as close as the dancers on her hem © Copyright 2004, Lyn Lifshin, All Rights Reserved. |
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Document last modified on: 09/28/2004