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the last winter with my mother

In September my mother fried apples
It is December now
and she cannot move her legs
In October, my mother made sweet potato pies
It is December now and the moments between us
are unfamiliar
Conversation left before we could say goodbye.
January is silent
and so are we.
Conversation has returned but refuses to enter the house
I watch him lean against a tree in the snow-covered yard
I want to ask my mother about him but i wouldn't
understand her answer
I close the blinds
and return to my mother's room to listen to her breathe as she sleeps

26 Jan 07

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