by Don Cole
Oblivion waits in the light up the road. My grandmother Witcher first showed me Orion as we waited for the paperwork to be finalized letting my mother out of a lunatic asylum. It was 1966 in a dead winter night and we stood outside of a Chinese restaurant in Denver, Colorado. Bare elms stared back at us from some random park across the street. Thin ice crackled under our feet, with little snow, but we were standing knee deep in family treachery. (The photo is from "Wunder" photos on the Underground weather service.)
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