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Hortensia Anderson

The Gift

Once a week, I visit her with a gift of citrus to dispel the mustiness of the nursing home. We sit in rocking chairs as she culls a trove of almost a century of memories.

As I pass the well-tended gardens on my way home, precious stories from her life slip into mine like shared dreams.

withered roses —
I stir fresh orange peel
in the potpourri