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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 4, December 2018
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Theresa A. Cancro
Wilmington, Delaware, USA


Manzanar 1942

I rush to pack what will fit into one suitcase. "The order says to bring only essentials, what can be easily carried. No big toys, no fancy dolls." Mother's voice trails off. Deanna Durbin, my favorite, nattily dressed in her red-white-and-blue Miss Liberty outfit, peeks from a cardboard box among the jumble of belongings headed for storage. I relish one last glance.

"We'll be back. Come on, don't worry." Mother, always rising early to open the dry goods store, greeting each customer with a wide smile. The same smile for the army men who give us ID tags to wear, escort us onto dingy buses bound for the assembly area – converted racetrack stables – then dirtier buses that carry us far into the desert, a deep valley, the cramped tar-and-clapboard barracks that will be home "for the duration."

apple orchard –
bruised petals
fall away

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