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May 24, 2017 / barton smock

{edit, 2013- joy and joy alone}

we ran around the empty crib. I let him catch a breath and he let me kneel. we tiptoed past private make-up to which his mother had been softly applied. he drank tea from an eggshell and I declined. I swatted him to let him know I was dying. his bent sister fell asleep and the boy was kind enough to believe her hair was a nightgown. I swatted him again to let him know I would live. the tea was gone. the rest is sadness.

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