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The Portrait

A poem by Stanley Kunitz,

July 28, 2005

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My mother never forgave my father for killing himself, especially at such an awkward time and in a public park, that spring when I was waiting to be born. She locked his name in her deepest cabinet and would not let him out, though I could hear him thumping. When I came down from the attic with the pastel portrait ... (Full article: 100 words)

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