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112 the widows’ handbook Cold Tea Holly Zeeb Chamomile, solace of insomnia— this remnant of last night’s falling into sleep— soothes my early waking from dreams of you. There on your side of the bed, a pile of books to weight it down, keep you from leaving during the night. What do I care about the world these days? I do, I do. But how to find my way beyond the mind, the steadfast heart of you? At night I hear you breathing, deep enough to enfold me in your sleep. Yet these early mornings, the day steals even as it slakes the thirst of wanting you. ...

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