little girl we lost two days old Britton Minor Responding to the poem “Annabel Lee” in ninth grade felt urgent, even though I struggled at first to understand its meaning, and had been hesitant to call attention to myself by asking my teacher, “What does sepulchre mean?” Familiar. Like a scent on the wind, or a face you can’t forget. “Sepulchre” felt visceral and would eventually stick to my consciousness like a piece of chewed gum smushed against the underbelly […]
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