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Gregory Blake Smith

Summer 1984

Snowblind

By Gregory Blake Smith

I come from New England, that antique fist of states in the forehead of the country where we bring up our kids with cold toes so they don’t feel as […]

Winter 1983

Hands

By Gregory Blake Smith

Here in New England we sit in chairs. It’s from my porch rocker that I watch the raccoon. He usually comes at dusk, that time of day half dog and […]