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M e g P o k r a s s
I wash the dark green leaves carefully, softly, just for him, and will share them on the drive to the grocery store, wrap ourselves in their cool cellulose pajamas, tell each other in bird language again and again, why it was we grew too close.
Sometimes when worrying about her family she searched for relief from “The Time Lady" a robotic-sounding clock-programmed telephone mother who said, "The time is…" as though she were really there inside the phone, and you could keep listening and she'd keep talking, and she was always right.
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