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228 the widows’ handbook Message to Satan Joan Michelson Seven times in seven years, I’ve written a reply to you and hit ‘delete.’ Am I angry still? Still baffled? Why did you speak for Geoffrey his last night? I’d like to shake you, Satan, until your bones are fit for nothing but an iron stockpot. Go on gloating. Clerks like me and my dead husband helplessly obey an urge to write. Everything goes down on paper, or into the computer. We file, read, rewrite. Again I read your letter. I want an answer. Must I accept no answer? Your phone does not connect. It’s my receiver I hear humming crassly. I watch it hit the bed. ...

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