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TO MY POLISH AUNTS by Mary Kovaleski Byrnes

                        After Ginsberg
Skin pale and pocked with moles,
your names pulled from Slavic litanies,
were strong enough for farm work, had the taste
of whole milk: Bertha, Elsie, Hannah,

in your kitchens, I sat on wooden chairs,
one eye looking out for the coal-grayed cats

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