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ACall I close my eyes. It doesn't leave me, the cold moon of Kashmir which breaks into my house and steals my parents' love. I open my hands: empty, empty. This cry is foreign. "When will you come home?" Father asks, then asks again. The ocean moves into the wires. I shout, "Are you all happy?" The line goes dead. The waters leave the wires. The sea is quiet, and over it the cold, full moon of Kashmir. 54 ...

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