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Griefing Your Grandmother
the sky is your namesake. whoever named you forgot about the thunderstorms ready to flood everything that surrounds you- your grandmother whose face resembles the raisins you chew after dinner, your dinner table which never has space for an extra saucer, the saucer shaped wildflowers that die as soon as they bloom in the nearby park where we used to meet and all the guests in your life whom you disguise as ghosts. /i have mastered the art of collecting your grief in the bucket of my words...
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