A Week Later By Sharon Olds

A Week Later A week later, I said to a friend: I don’t think I could ever write about it. Maybe in a year I…

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Crab By Sharon Olds

Crab When I eat crab, slide the rosy rubbery claw across my tongue I think of my mother. She’d drive down to the edge of…

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The Victims By Sharon Olds

The Victims When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and took it in silence, all those years and then kicked you out,…

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The Daughter Goes To Camp By Sharon Olds

The Daughter Goes To Camp In the taxi alone, home from the airport, I could not believe you were gone. My palm kept creeping over…

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1954 – Sharon Olds

Then dirt scared me, because of the dirt he had put on her face. And her training bra scared me—the newspapers, morning and evening, kept…

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