http://slow.writerscafe.org/remcguiremeek The original writings of author Rachael McGuire Meek en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776113342 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 After you’d picked them clean as bones, and lappedTheir blood up with your tongue like a sponge absorbs water,You came in, panting, awaiting reward;I scolded you for killing so eagerlyThe birds that flew too lowWhile I stood inside painting the staircase.No care was tak.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912250/ At seven years I dipped my head for thoseWho spun religious sentiments to gold,But as I aged, a new desire arose:To question everything that I was told.I traded penitence for your apt hands,My love for you, your voice more transcendentThan any prayer or scripture could command,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912249/ When I happenedupon the photograph of the entrance taken in late 1940, Iwas greeted by an imposing steel signraised above alocked prison gate.Allwho saw Auschwitz read work makes youfree. TheNazi welcome banner offered the outside world a glimpseofpropagand.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912240/ Your breath smells like picnic food rotting in a park trashbin,like the early morning air at a New York fish market,like a Jack Russell terrier’s sweaty skinafter its daily half hour gallop across the front yard,like forgotten milk in an apartment refrigerator meldingwith t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912237/ My toddler stoops over, holding the front of his pants, thrashing like he’s entered a modern dance competition in the grocery store checkout line. I have to go to thepotty, Mommy!he screams at fire-alarm volume as I place my first shopping cartitem on the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912236/ To look at the house now, I suppose you’d never knowI tended the crops every day with my fatherAnd spent my evenings repairing the holes in the barnWhile my mother stayed inside stewing plums. My father used to rave about the dark purple color only she couldachieve... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912235/ Aunt Mary: I’m reminded of Sunday afternoons spent working your Mini Pages puzzles with my cousins, of occasions when you’d place a bedrail across the front ofthe couchand pretend we were still infants, of the nature walks you took us on as you imparted .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/remcguiremeek/1912234/