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54 Cold Cereal and Milk at 3 a.m. What can make something so simple taste so good, so indulgent? What have I done, and what have I not, what have I said, what have I sent that comes back now, willed or misapplied, in a boomerang of harm? This is a time of holding in the mouth, of chewing slowly even these softened squares. The body is comforted by this as it has been by the remembered scent of those I have loved who are far and gone from me and dead. Brought close with their completed lives, they seem to have known me wholly. Even this wheat-sweetened milk is delicious. And when one sunken piece turns up—a surprise ending—its gray ghost stirred and revealed, a small celebration takes place then, under the ribbed ceiling, near the back of the gums. ...

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