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B L U E D I S T A N C E S , N O R T H E R N C A L I F O R N I A Most days I believe I am one nap away from normal. Even as a girl I remember what I wanted most was to lay my head down on my mother’s lap and rest. Her hand smoothing my rough, uncombed curls. My private mother. She let me do that once or twice. Today is June , . There are deer on the beaches, seals in the meadow, fog mumbling along the numbest parts of morning’s throat—no, it is a noiseless catch. It won’t burn off by  p.m. For pity’s sake, call the lost home. I am haymow and hayrick. I am all fall down.  Barresi pages:Layout 1 5/12/10 1:43 PM Page 16 ...

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