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212 helene Grief repeats repeats scurries the past a warren lit underground pops up facing her long childhood hall “What have you got in your hands, Richard?” Little boy looking up as I look up now that she’s dead Open my fists full of Granma’s pennies right for me left for Sanford And she gives me the truth slap the honor slap burning down All the twists of our life converge there întortocheat each instant until the end angry birth division the eyes of my soul “I’ll always be with you, Richard” She said that late in our life after Pop had died to ease my dread of her death said it with love arching conviction But it’s not so There’s silence inside me Mother of truth mother of courage That flesh woman is gone alien unknown Only her echo palm of her hand scalding my cheek ...

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