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My
Grandmother's Body by
Carla Schick sits at the table nibbling crumbs to nourish her ailing body
ghosts in the passageways
my sister calls her name is
called by her name no
memory only my sister’s eyes ears nose the texture of her wispy hair the intonations of her cries are a photograph never taken a matriarch hovering over nightly baths small
injuries rituals of cooking and sewing carry our bodies across the chasm my mother’s silent grievings caught in the dust sucked up into the vacuum cleaner running over our tiny feet clutter in the living room we draw the shades peek around corners at
night hear voices let our prayers fall like a blanket of snow we draw our ancestors clearing away layers of city grime to unfold the outline of their profiles pouring from our fingertips onto the soft hidden snow the wind takes away what we have given we leave behind gifts of broken twigs
dried flowers a hollow space in the earth. |
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