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P h i l i p p e   S h i l s


sweet potato


My dad kept an ocarina

in his desk in the study

where the checkbook

was balanced. Our family

called it the sweet potato.

He'd shut the door and

then there'd be the hoots

of him trying to uncode the

russet clay thing. It wasn't 

close to music but there

was never frustration 

just the gentle humor 

of a failed scale and my

father's soft blowing.

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