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26 TELL ME ABOUT THE FATES The boat jumped, the line pulled taut and the tip of a pinky finger, caught in a loop, was severed and dropped in the water. Years contract to minutes and I imagine my father’s lost digit in the sediment, nibbled by minnows. Better maybe if he had lost an arm, held off, by excising a larger part, that malignancy, heavy but afloat. So easy to imagine a patterned future, but expecting the pains to pay is futile. At most you get a few jokes and sutures. ...

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