Pattern Pulp

A Poem by My Grandmother

It’s been one hell of a week for the Tri-State area. When our cable box and lights flickered on Saturday morning, I went into turbo cleaning and work mode. It was a zen of sorts to balance a week of chaos. In sifting through an overstuffed filing cabinet, I came across a pile of my grandmother’s poetry. Here’s a piece she wrote about the Blizzard of 1978. Sans snow, the descriptions are eerily similar.

If you’re able to donate, here’s a link to the Red Cross.


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