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photo: Daniel A. Anderson

Poem of the Week

Death By a Nose

began to
itch–now it
scrapes and a
swallow feels as
if it lacerates. My
sinuses are clogged
like faulty drains, and
my head is pounding as
if to burst this debilitated
brain. Would I could finagle
a life de-nasal and ditch this
snout. Hold my calls. Adopt
my dog. It’s my final, fatal
cold; of that there isn’t
any doubt.

— Barbara Lydecker Crane