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23 FAMILY PLOT Wind-scoured in fallow land, bone orchard sheltered in the airplane’s shadow, its incorporated space: a safe place to be dead. The car upturned on Barry Road. Barbara in the hospital, Becky at the stove, stirring the hollowed house full of pepper smell. Through a veil of dust the rare truck treads up, the morning fox’s muzzle frets a footprint, the scent we leave there, the headstone’s lamb’s prayer, thaw and thistle bristling at the cemetery border. ...

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