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90 domesTic When I left my house They were waving at me, Two pairs of blue eyes, My daughter strapped To my husband’s chest, Excited and kicking her legs And calling out those short, sharp cries Before words, strapped to him Knowing each time she wakes up She’ll find him there, calling to her In that voice that’s hers, Still low but higher-pitched Them both like two tanagers Calling across Our front yard apple tree: I’m here,food’s over here, Hey,look at this warm patch of light Small things, silly things, everything And I watch them waving Knowing though I make her laugh And kick her feet and sometimes shriek He’s her warmth, her pitch, her tree. ...

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