It all starts with a single mystery.
And then another. And another. And then another.
I can still remember seeing my mother crying as Agatha’s ending credits rolled. My mother said, “My tragic flaw: I hold no mystery.”
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Two Poems by Cortney Lamar Charleston
And it darts across the street with the speed
of a rumor’s shadow – a dark and discreet beast
about his size, small configuration of bones
that he is.
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