Fall 2003
The blackness of her hair seemed to pull the color from her body.
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I repeated the name thoughtfully, then said no, I didn’t think I knew her.
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We take our solace, in a time of malaise and mourning, in the close-at-hand.
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When we wake up, the five windows and the French door are full of light.
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When she spoke again, the tone in her voice had changed.
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I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.
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